The Other Fey Folk

So.
Mab and Titania have come back
again
sweeping their long robes
and long hair
regally through the halls
of imagination—
And Oberon and Nuada
battle through the dreaming nation
Nimue dances again by
the shore,
and Bluebell and Tansy
gossip once more,
dreaming lazily through the summer’s
sunny afternoons
and the little folk are
collecting milk and hiding
car keys as well
and have completely eclipsed
poor Tinkerbelle.

Her hair and her skirts
too short and too cute
her story too kind
for the goth-dreaming youth
her socks are not stripy,
she carries a wand
and somehow when Mab
blew back into town
she convinced folks
they were beyond
the simple story, the empty shell
made of Barrie’s Tinkerbelle.

The Lady of the Lake
now ventures up upon the land
and dances with the dryads
to the latest hip fey-folk
band and over in the corner
unasked, undancing, ignored for
her bright and childlike cheer
left without so much
as a randy satyr’s wink…
poor Tink.

The naiads are weaving lilies
into each other’s hair,
giggling over sailors and pretending
Tinkerbelle
isn’t even there.
The twelve year old sister
stuck at the prom—
her hair is too short
and her dress isn’t long
and embroidered
with the latest in Celtic-Brown
design
Unfashionable and childish and left
once more behind.
The willow-girl is whispering and
casting sideways glances
and the music grows more wild
and dark in the dancing
dell.

Poor Tinkerbelle.
Her wand grows dim, her light
grows faint. Her every move
a pain and trial.

Tinkerbelle. Out of style.
Except for those of us who can
be six again,
and love her for her bravery
and her cheer,
and her little singing voice, and her
curls in a short cap—
for her unfashionable dress
and her wand, so cliche—
I won’t ask that you believe
in fairies.
Just Tinkerbelle.
And clap.
Just for today.

Kate Holly-Clark is a professional storyteller, artist, and poet living in NH.