Changeling Day

At the age of six, I was traded away.

The memory taken of that day.

Already highly capable of cooking and cleaning, while slowly I learned how to play.

Every day a new task, some new way for me to compensate.

The cosmic bill I had no way of seeing or ever hoping to clear one day.

Finally, I looked in the mirror and saw looking back at me the real fey.

So I ran away changeling day.

I wouldn’t slave for captors in any conceivable way.

Even if the girl they bought is gone, I will fly, escape their bonds, and shed the skin I’ve worn in her stead.

The woods are dark and new, but I will forge the straight away.

I’ll not go back or even contemplate returning to life before changeling day.

I found a lightning-hollow tree and made a bed of dead dried leaves.

For the first time I could breathe, and hear, and feel, and see.

Living on acorn bread and pinecone jam.

Choosing how to spend my days foraging, dancing, tidying my space.

Integrating into my forest permanently.

Never to be seen by human eyes again.

K.B. Silver