Janet Lynn

You were my lover
until the night that you weren’t.

You called me Janet…
in the green shaded sunlight streams
(like a stained glass painting)
where we ran naked
beneath that haunted woodland canopy.

I, daring to travel
to forbidden places
which our fathers forbade…
to pluck the rose
whose thorns did prick,
beading blood from innocent skin.

On that final night
you called me Lynn…
(my misspelled middle name)
when I appeared naked before you
on the edge of twilight forest storm clouds;
there, where I was deflowered
by a fairy queen’s decree.

It was there,
in the shadow of such
bewildering and bruising beauty
that you abandoned me,
never to return.

As I had been counseled,
I held tight to myself
when you would have
let me go…

And being unsaved,
I saved myself,
even as you faltered
and fled.

True, I haunted that place
on the following,
on the morrow,
as I brushed past tree limbs
still wet with last night’s
cleansing rain.

I walked to the spot where we’d smoked;
the remains of last night’s victims,
the evidence which proved
that last night’s disaster
had indeed taken place…
a world shattering event
which we have never discussed.

That woodland fairyland
is a cursed place
which returns
to haunt my dreams.

That night I had been transformed
into many creatures,
into many forms,
burned away to nothing
and reborn from the ashes.

Janet and Lynn united in a pairing
you could not possibly conceive of.

And thus combined,
and bereft of your touch,
I stumbled into the morning
to learn what we’d become.

Written by Jason Wright
October 7, 2019

For Michael C.

This is She

Girl will finish drowning
for the seventh time in four years;
she must be pretty adept by now.

Each She is a fragment.
Each fragment is a piece of Mollie.

Mollie Ann Baker is an imp
who’s initials reveal a faerie queen
beneath the glittering surface
of Tennessee water that her people
refuse to bathe in.

The water spills
out of a holy well which,
when penetrated deeply (and wetly) reveals Tam Lin
in all his naked transformative glory.

Hold tight to that one
and he’ll give you the happily ever after
you’ve been waiting for,
or so the minstrels say.

He always slips through my fingers
when he recognizes me as the Dana to his Zor,
primed for immolation; devastated to be losing me once again.
Thrice damned. Forever haunted.

Faerie Queen Mab (M.A.B.) doesn’t actually
hold the prince as prisoner;
not for love & never for sacrifice.

Blood Queen is happiest in the embrace of
ocean smelling mermaid ghost werewolves,
twice devoured by terrifying thing
beneath what is seen by the sane and the deadly dull.

Mother and daughter,
frothy creature is beautiful, sad,
not entirely human (if at all).

My Mab could teach her a few songs, I’m sure.

My Mab is more than human,
extraordinary beyond us all
and yet sister to worlds within worlds;
she holds us all in her ginger wreathed
collection of dreams, nightmares and visions,
gives us meaning, laughter, mirth
and a sobering empathetic sorrow
that we might appreciate the solace
found within her coils.

Mab, beheld is a monstrous beauty
which wild with grief for events still to come
still gives precious smiles…

And when lucky mustard seed bottle cap talismans
shatter the glass to be pocketed like coins —
with that much luck and a fire of bones
‘neath lilting pipes
on nights when the Unseelie Court
dance naked round Old Oak’s Children
of acorn and water lily…
On nights such as these
our Mab may summon her human type voice,
call through the wires to shock, bless, talk
of when we were once human together
in Michigan type semblance of life.

Lucky am I
for recognizing the wonder
that so many mistake
for imagined mysticism.

M.A.B., My Mab, My Mollie, Queen of Faerie, Sib of my heart:
Bless us all with a sea siren song of words through thine art.

Written by Jason Wright
July 31, 2017

For Mollie Baker

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