Haitian Fairy Tale - John Grey

That’s moonlight, she says.

It's trapped between the blinds

but she feels as if she's cupped it in her hands,

Outside, a soccer game breaks up.

The weary players, backs glistening,

gather around a flask of rum.

In the fading light, she is no longer just a daughter

but the wish for a daughter.

A dream pushes through the swaying shadows

and the dusk turns the dirty streets into paradise.

This little one dangles from the neck of night

like a rabbit's foot.

It is a fairy tale.

I feel as if I'm part of the story in her head.

Drummers thump beneath the wind.

Birds fly calmly into their night sky cage,

Soldiers shuffle down the sidewalks,

rifles trembling on shoulders.

A woman grips the elbow of her lover,

drags him into a dark doorway.

My little girl peers out in fascination,

understudies life.

I’ve seen the children in the market place,

dozing in chairs, in between the errands they run

for a penny here, a penny there.

She is not that child,

The smell of bouillon,

the sizzle of fried banana,

wander like dogs into the room,

My wife picks up scattered toys

in the background, cursing the mess

that’s followed us across the ocean,

She is not that child either,

This child is in the castle tower,

her gold hair hanging down,

She is in the strange bed

awaiting her troupe of cheery dwarves,

My wife and I are the couple

made barren by a witch,

She is the sleep

only a prince's kiss can wake.

Originally published by Visions International, July 2017

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Shift, River And South and Flights. Latest books, “Bittersweet”, “Subject Matters” and “Between Two Fires” are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in Levitate, Writer’s Block and Trampoline.