shadows of leafy branches

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Fairytale by Jessica Maggie Brophy

I.


Once upon a time there was a poet

who didn’t trust her imagination.


She relied upon her family stories

or her daily whims.


She could not just

make up a story out of her brain;


She didn’t trust her body to speak—

disconnected to stones, the sun, the sea.


II.


So she decided to watch her mother

whose body inflamed when she was angry.


Mother would invent new ways to keep the flock

in her crow shadow.


Sometimes this meant the poet

cleaned the attic all summer;


sometimes this meant mother disapproved

of all her sisters’ suitors.


III.


The poet who didn’t trust her imagination grew up and

began to notice father.


She watched as he punched numbers and

saw his fingers work harder and his eyes grow duller.


She saw his legs move like the legs of

a steam engine,


not knowing if he was

dancing or being drugged.


She wondered if he ever worked off the clock and

if he forgot the taste of salmon.


She remembered a far away stare

when he was at the wheel.


IV.


Eventually the girl found a boy whose

face fired bright with life.


He had biceps for days and

could make chicken stew with palm oil.


He knew many languages and could manipulate

his voice to channel joy.


His body zig-zagged red

across the midfield;


if he kept moving,

eventually everything would make sense.


V.


One day, after a match had finished,

the girl and the boy decided to get married.


They sat on the sidelines, the girl

prodding the engagement.


They got married in the court and

had lunch in an aviary.


The bruise of her parent’s divorce

holds the same anniversary year;


Mostly his in-laws watched and

ate Indian buffet.


VI.


Thirteen years after they met, the poet

gave birth to their son (Goddess Protect, Wisdom Soothe Our Tears).


Wind moving through grass possesses his spirit.

He crawls towards lawn weeds growing high.


The play of light in the shape of nepthytis

prods him to say a first word—shadow.


He doesn’t carry the bruises of his parents—

he still trusts his mother and father.


VII.


Nine months after childbirth, poet can

can almost feel her body again.


Bio

Jessica Maggie Brophy is a third-generation Irish-American poet from New Jersey who writes about family quirks, the body, and fairytales. She has published two chapbooks, The Paper Girl (2016) and Firemark (2018), with Finishing Line Press. She currently teaches writing at Central New Mexico Community College. Learn more about The Writing Shed, a journaling circle she founded in 2022, here.

Author's note

"Fairytale" was written shortly after I had given birth to my son. My body was feeling particularly disconnected from the stories I had grown up learning in a fundamentalist Christian household. So I used the poem to turn towards the myths that I was learning for the first time—the ancient Irish myths—where Morrigu, goddess of war, appears as a crow, and the symbol of the salmon is part of their creation stories about how poets gain inspiration. But entering the myths felt overwhelming, so I wrote the poem as a fairytale. This genre helped me invite more playfulness and would allow me to communicate with the myths while also centering the ordinary details of my childhood. Fairytales are told to children to stir their imagination but also include scary bits. I wanted this tension between the scary and the imaginative game-play so I could foresee a future in which my body was healed again.