Photo by Olivia D Bryant
It is widely rumored that she floated across the channel on the tail of a sea serpent, while
Some recount that she was born of the moon's salty tears as they collided with the surf.
In fair accord, it is declared that she is in league with the Sidhe; perhaps she is their queen.
By all accounts, she abides in a hidden cave, curiously detached from both her world and ours.
Her gaze is to be avoided at all costs, and the women of the village warn their babes not to
Rove past Harkin's Crossing ....lest they chance an all too grim fate at the hands of the fae.
My brothers-in-arms dismiss my empirical fascination when I mention a distant sighting of
The lass, and insist that I should not vitiate my good name by manner of entertaining such
Wild notions; their looks of concern over my subsequent laughter is always mildly touching.
Try as I may, I cannot subdue the urge to scan the banks of the river as my diurnal ride
Carries me to the far edge of the estate long before the dew has scattered from the meadows.
My thoughts and my horse are my only companions this morning; and the warmth of the
Sun's rays on my back has the effect of an evening hearth, dulling my normally keen wits.
I rein in the mare and dismount, giving her free access to the delicately scented field as I
Walk further towards the property line in hopes of shaking this sudden bout of lethargy.
It is then that I spy her there shin-deep in the crystalline waters, with cascades of flaxen
Curls obscuring her face as she leans down into the current to fill each of three clay pitchers.
I voice a gentle yet firm greeting, inwardly plotting the most viable escape route should
She take offense to my disturbance of her ritual and decide to impale me or mayhap worse.
I am shocked by the quickness of her instinctive stiffening; and it is most obvious that my
Proximity has startled her, as the circlet of wildflowers atop her head slides out of alignment.
I find the color in her eyes. Green of summer's forest must surely be humbled by their depths.
Afraid to blink, I study the sapience of her gaze and note the underlying layers of longing and fear.
By Heaven's Gate! This petite, enchanting imp cannot be the monstrous troglodyte of legend!
I momentarily think to break the cutting silence by wheedling her with an assortment of
Spontaneous flattery; but as the fragrance of blossoms and temptation envelopes me, I succumb to the
Invitation of her dainty, outstretched hand and the rose toned allure of destiny's kiss.
Copyright Tina Jordan 2017 All Rights Reserved
At least two years have passed
Since I last sensed his presence.
I trust that he made his way
Onward towards eternal light.
In his wake, I ushered away
The lingering imprint of despair
Along with the cobwebs,
Replacing them with fresh flowers.
I pause from my reading to admire
The arrangement of primrose and
Sundry scraps of ribbon tucked neatly
Into an old pint mason jar near the window.
The air is motionless; my breathing stills
As I watch the tender blossoms tremble
Ever so slightly. Perhaps my eyes deceive.
A shadow flutters in the fading sunlight.
I turn in slow motion towards the antique
Mirror above the mantel, knowing full well
Whose visage awaits in its reflection.
Copyright 2017 Tina Jordan All Rights Reserved
What was I to do?
The touch of
It was only
Copyright 2017 Tina Jordan, All Rights Reserved
At the point of exhaustion, I shimmy out of my restless dreams and don my
Night coat before lighting the old lantern that hangs in wait by the kitchen door.
If I could but remember the right words that would bring you forth from the
Shadow realm, I would shout them above the crescendo of waves that refuse
To relent in their assault on the shoreline glowing faintly in front of me now.
The rocks are cool and treacherously slick beneath my pale bare feet, so I
Extend my left arm in attempt to balance my frame above the weathered stones.
I reach the softness of the sand with more relief than I would truly admit,
And boldly take the last few steps until the water covers the hem of my gown.
I hear your song in the evaporating sea spray and timidly give voice to a song
Of my own, a melody born of the foolish yearning that ferments in my heart.
The wind shifts of its own accord, and I surely imagine the fragmented harmony
Rising up with the changing tide as I move the lantern from side to side in search
Of the source of the enchanting sound; I dare not stop my breathless serenade.
The cold wetness of my garments against my knees causes me to realize that
I have been drawn further into the ocean, and the scope of my situation begins
To assemble in my mind and gut as a clever combination of excitement and fear.
The wind and the waves work now in unison to solidify my predicament, and I
No longer possess the strength to move forward or retreat. I stand mesmerized.
The lantern threatens to falter and its flame teases with a wicked, darting display.
The small open boat is upon me without my notice, and I am startled as the current
Betrays my solid stance on the ocean floor, pulling me under into the blackness.
I debate whether mere seconds or lifetimes have passed as the salty liquid rushes
Into my nose and lungs, and I struggle to regain my foothold on the fickle, sandy surface.
I feel the dull hardness of the boat scraping against my flimsy spine as a sturdy
Set of hands hoists me from an awkward stance into the wildly bobbing craft.
Choking up the remnants of the sea, I gasp for a sweet taste of night air and slowly
Focus my burning eyes on the veil of darkness to gaze in wonder upon the face of fate.
the noise of
if but briefly
in the air
if you felt
Copyright 2017 Tina Jordan All Rights Reserved
Despite the cloudless state of the heavens,
An unmistakable smell of pending snowfall prevails.
I know not what provoked that left turn onto
This nameless back road, save my itinerant thoughts.
Could I have been more careless in not assessing
The contents of the trunk in the last two years?
What I would give for a spare tire and
The comforting warmth of my own bed at this moment...
Why am I always thinking in sarcastic tongues?
At least forty miles from everything, I appraise the
Option of bunking in the car to await rescue,
Then tarry not in zipping my jacket before beginning
My foolhardy trek into the darkness of the beyond.
The night panders an eerie silence, compounding
Forgotten fears that threaten to rise up in untimely rebellion.
I whistle, attempting to dissuade their efforts
A faint light in the distance affects a loosening of my nerves
Until it is partially obscured by a motionless silhouette.
My sudden intake of icy air burns my lungs, and I muffle a cough
Into my scarf, trying not to attract attention prematurely.
The next eighty-seven steps are forced, though I long for
An effectual remedy to my current predicament.
My pulse quickens with the reverberation of his greeting,
Although my mother’s voice blares a warning inside my frozen head.
I’m suddenly agog to discover the source of this calming voice.
Once perched by his Buck Stove, I offer a lame rendition
Of the evening’s events, omitting the highlights of my cowardice.
His eyes are moody sapphires.
I sip the liquid fire hesitantly, noting the intricate floral pattern near
The rim of the cup while my thumb studies the chip in its handle.
He moves a bit of my hair away from my reddening face
With a softness I cannot recall ever having encountered.
The emulsion created by chemistry and curiosity
Is undoubtedly temptation.
I consider myself stranded until further notice.
Copyright 2017, Tina Jordan All Rights Reserved