An Average Morning

My poem, “An Average Morning,” as seen in The Elixir.

In response to David Small’s

Imogene’s Antlers

It is an average morning.

The birds sing as always,

the cars ramble on.

Yet I,

passively as I go,

cause a stir.

One glance

and people are a-twitter.

One peek

and people are a-buzz.

Whisperings

of faerie fairytales

and legendary legends.

Murmurmings

of zigzaggèd crossbreedings

and genetic mutation.

But no:

I am not a changeling child

or a scientific experiment,

nor did I wake up one morning

to find this unusual complexion.

I was born like this,

have been like this

since I was a wee little fawn girl.

I struggle to ignore the hum,

the air alive with it.

I should not be ashamed

of my many deep, dark freckles

or my apt and delicate nose,

my lithe yet towering frame,

nor my skittish nature.

Still

it is hard.

After all it is not my fault-

any more than my brother is to blame

for his long, furry tail

or my mother

for her colorfully feathered hands,

nor my father

for his abnormally compact figure

-that I have antlers

growing out of my head.

ABOUT ME (5)

via An Average Morning

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