Poetry: Urban Elf Aesthetic by Meg Eubank (For Bianca)

By Meg Eubank

Scuffed combat boots
    under flowy fairy skirts
Tromping through the wood 
        at the center of town. 

Beater car
Parked like an accidental art installation
                at the tree’s edge

Grasping branches, vines, rust
    eating away
            the metal of ironside

Broken bottles
    glass
        from the driver’s side mirror
            crunches underfoot

Shutters click
        and light intersects with silver.
(I can’t ever seem to leave the metal behind)

The traffic whirs
off the highway
    (but no one sees us down here)
                    We travel between worlds anyway –
                    no one sees us hardly anywhere

Past that standing rock formation
and mossy circle mound
that mark our entrance
                where the veil is thin

The old drive leads past a stone cabin
                inscribed with strange
                archaic writing.

        It’s either
                a witches’ hovel
        or an addict’s 
playground.
(It is barred and banned – let it lie). 

At the edge of the grounds
we’ll gather our finds -     the feather, that piece of smooth rock, the broken earring charm found half buried in the dirt
We’ll go to your apartment
with the view of cobblestones,
cut apart our magazines, 
paste down our poetry
                                             by candlelight flame
                                             and a cushion of song

We’ll take the rough pieces
of that angsty art
    that Urban Elf Aesthetic
    The Lost Girls
    The Poet Priestesses    
We’ll put it together
                                         to make our moment. 
                                                           a better moment
    a personal mythology
    a riot of emotion
    a creation
        like earth anew, 
                                                       in glimmering, glittering, 
                                                            glorious connection.