Fairytale

Inspired by Babes in the Wood

A father took his two daughters for a walk
in the snow; told them to leave
their milk teeth at home, curved
as the ring of the horizon,

told them to leave

their thick winter coats. Twins,
loyal as Orthrus, guarding the thin
white wool of their parents’ innocence.

Stay here, the father said, at the
clearing in the woods (there are very few
clearings in these woods). The wind
honed its edge on the whetstone
of an earth cancerous and rotting,

the little gods of helplessness and loss,
and cruel Jenny Wren twittered like knives
in the few stunted
branches that had not yet fallen.

The mayflies were long
gone. As the father walked away,
you could see it in the children’s eyes,
the hero diminishing with each step he took.

As they laid down onto
their crosses of dead leaves and petals

their parents closed their eyes,
dribbling in peace. And this is how it ends:
not with a miracle

but a continuing of sleep. Defined
by what they no longer had,

by tomorrow morning they were nameless,
carried off by robins.