Five Poems by Laura Theis

 

Aurae

The men that came for our gold found no fire,

nor even the memory of fire.

The men that came for our gold found no gold,

nor even the idea of gold.

They found four quiet sisters

in a winter-cold house.

Four still girls shrugging, smiling as if to say take

what you will, but as you see there is nothing to take.

As soon as they left we resumed our singing

and the fire blazed up in the grate.

The men that came for our gold talked like fools,

blind with a story of treasure.

They did not know what was hidden

deep, glinting: That our gold was song.

The Selkies Visit At Bath Time

it is the only moment in my day that I am 

not lonely or in pain

the heat of the bath water eviscerates all of my 

aging body’s aches and complaints

around me the selkies’ half-human 

company soothes my solitary soul

their presence is a gift I refuse to question

their song is not beautiful

their chatter not all that friendly

they give me quizzical glances 

they say things like

did you know that in seal years 

you would most likely already be dead?

but in that they feel almost like family

and their animal eyes are soulful and deep 

and uncannily familiar too:

I was given a stuffed white seal pup at birth

it shared my name and my life

across oceans and contracting years

and grew greyer and more beloved

the only childhood relic that

I have not lost or had to give up

perhaps the reason the bath selkies visit 

is pity that we failed to truly turn into each other

because she was a toy and I was a child 

who had yet to learn I deserved magic

water bucket

we can tell it is fairy water by the way 

it appears and disappears

inside the bucket

it might be a gift or a carelessness 

some mysteries are best left 

unexamined

however only 

the hopeless

children know that

if you drink from it a certain way

it can turn you invisible 

in parts

if you use it to drench 

your shoes with a knack

you can use them to walk 

on the river’s surface 

for up to an hour like some 

once-great men in a book

a drop of it inside your 

water spray bottle

can will the willow 

to murmur or unbloom 

a bindweed trumpet 

even the ghost-white 

wilted lilies could 

(but should not)

be revived

Colour of the Witch

I have yet to see an ugly tree -

it is not even your line but he smiles lips curled 

around his silence as they sometimes curve 

around his vowels you can tell even though 

he is walking ahead because he is holding 

your hand

stay away from the boy they’d said

we hear that emerald’s his favourite colour

keep away from the boy they’d said

for willows are his favourite trees

it is true that his words are like falling 

through forest floor

his voice like the soft ground you wish to be buried in

other men have tried to gain your heart with cash 

or songs or poetry

all it took for him to break you was what? 

one glance through his colourless lashes 

one shrug half a name

stay away from the boy they’d said

we hear that emerald’s his favourite colour

keep away from the boy they’d said

for willows are his favourite trees

& it is true

that after the first time he kissed you he left you

alone in a clearing

& when you stood there 

fist raised against the sky

a sparrow hawk shot down to land on your hand 

gave you a long inscrutable stare

then flew off again

(your mother noticed you

shaking at dinner that night)

stay away from the boy they’d said

we hear that emerald’s his favourite colour

keep away from the boy they’d said

for willows are his favourite trees

& it is true that all night

grows heavier, darker around him the wind louder

its song more pronounced

and that after the first time he murmured I love you

& left you half-naked and giddy behind the woodshed

you found you were suddenly able to dictate 

the movements of clouds with your mind

stay away from the boy they’d said

we hear that emerald’s his favourite colour

keep away from the boy they’d said

for willows are his favourite trees

& while their warning words are nothing to you it is also true that his leaf-like fingers are curled around the seeds of all sorrow all sadness all pain not just yours or his - everyone’s

he might plant a new seedling 

every once in a while

but for now he is only walking ahead 

for now he is holding your hand

Familiar

 

I knew you for what you were the second

you stepped in the garden I knew you

at first glance

 

not by the absence

of a tame crow nestled

against your wind hair

 

nor by the way you shied from the reverend’s

hosepipe even the tiniest

splash of his water

 

not by your sober green dress

nor your cultured manner of speaking

and holding your head just so:

 

I knew you by my own blood

the way a planet knows her moons

or a cloud knows her nascent lightning

Laura Theis is the author of Elgin-Award nominated how to extricate yourself and multi-award-winner A Spotter's Guide To Invisible Things.