Dandelions carry wishes—that’s what the
changeling little girls used to whisper toeach other during recess—
they would say
that the fairy court
would hold again someday—their chapped lips formed around the
words while they held hope
for becoming the terrible creatures
they were meant to be—
They’d wait for Spider Queens or Beclawed Things
to pick them and wipe the glamour and the glitter
away,
and the changeling girls would dissolve
and she’d be a thing
with wings
and fangs—and power—
nobody’s daughter anymore.
