Two Stories by Jenny Dunbar & Art by Katelynn Tracy
stopped at random whilst at play
the flatterer’s tongue who tore her wings
crushed a many splendoured thing
The Gypsy Boy
boy on the August road, in a fey, first light,
fickle and smiling with knowing eyes of blue,
pools of liquid cobalt streaming the legends of the years into my lap,
he stops in automatic gesture and sits with me.
We recollect the passing of the hours, the random meeting of strangers along the way.
His hands are strong, fine boned
caramel smoke whispers on the morning air,
a brief ode to the pretty women he has encountered and bedded.
The words in our eyes sing to each other and our undoing is laid willingly beside us,
neither bush nor briar betraying the act, breathing with us as the dream reels out.
He brings it to me slowly,
the salt scent of my lover as we plough and sow the furrows of forever.
I open my eyes and he has gone, no trace of this visitor between my sides,
yet a changeling planted, as the song goes, and blood weeping on the thorn.