The Fairy

she blew in after the lunch bells had faded. Sunday, round two in the afternoon. Beautiful in a pale whirl, dancing and floating between aisles in the vortex air of the slow train rumbling toward London.

suspended there, afloat in the rattle and sway of the rails. she drifted into the baggage jungle, over the seats, through a valley of hard-back suitcases stacked in transit. then up—whoosh—into the air, sideways around a bicycle chained to the rack, slowing for a breath. fast past my eyes in a blur of light, suddenly diving down and settling on my knee.

she paused a while, wings trembling in the engine hum. maybe feeling the beat of my heart, or just the vibration of the wheels on steel. then lifted again, back down the aisle, out the open window near Cambridge where the fields rolled out.

white floating fluffy fairies—seed parachutes blowing free from the common milkweed plant, scattering on the wind, gone.

rolling to London,
a skinful of Christmas cheer,
Deborah’s birthday.