Fae Folk
ISSUE VI — SUMMER 2022
— prose —
What Went Ye Out Into This Wilderness to See?
BY ELISABETH OLIVER
The red sap nightmare of the forest is real. You are in it. The trees are terrible and tall. They surround you. A witch lives deep within its fat black heart. This is where she has taken you.
You were once not here. I know. I know because I was once not here either.
Sparks in the Rain
BY M.J. WEISEN
A clustered, collided mess of low-orbiting satellites littered the scar-tissued sky above the graveyard of a forest. Sometimes the metallic debris would crack apart or smash into each other, igniting bursts of flame. It would be then that Dewroot or his older sister, Daizel, would ask Mama or Papa, “Is that what took our powers?”
Kiss of the Fae Prince and the Dragon Midwife Manggagamod
BY ELSA VALMIDIANO
Awakened by the heady chorus of crows that encircled the deep violet sky shortly before dawn, Prince Liam figured there must be a witch nearby and peeked from his castle window. His mother, Siobhan, a Fae trickster, had taught him how witches always attracted crows as if they were a protective forcefield, so he was very familiar with what their ominous congregation in the sky might mean.
The Lost One
BY KAURA GRANDE
My hair. Call it vanity, but I just love my hair. I love the way it cascades like a brown river down my back. I love the way it always holds effortless curls, the kind people pay good money for. I love how it is always shiny, always soft, never frizzy, nothing is ever out of place. I love the color, rich brown with hazelnut tones, the two best things— chocolate and hazelnut.
Whistles and the Bell
BY ANDY NARANJO
Madrid was sunny. The scaffolding, busy streets, and buses kept a stray dog busy as she drank from streams of spilled wine. Other housed hounds barked at her in a jealous frenzy. Jealous of her freedom, they warned her of patrolling dog catchers, teasing her about the dark fate every stray faces. Ignoring their tongues, she was jealous of the roofs that kept them shaded from the streets.
Fae in Plain Sight
BY REBECCA CARLYLE
What do you think of when you hear the words fae or faerie? Let me guess—you just thought of a tiny, pocket-sized, glowing, winged person. With a wand. And lots of glitter. We’re not like Aurora’s fairies where each of us only dresses in one particular color. How impractical is that? No. We fae blend into society much easier than those whimsical ‘fairies’ do.
— poetry —
Passing fancies
BY KIM FAHNER
Caught at the edges of peripheral vision,
all fractal fern covered and spider web garbed,
tiny faeries spin themselves—twirling tops—
across the gravel of a northern road. They gather
together in the rotted stumps of forgotten oak trees,
swing haphazard from long brooms of sumac
as it turns bright red infall’s brisk light.
Uncaptured
BY RYAN MORROW
Hidden in plain sight
veiled only by a thin veneer
of disbelief
present but immeasurable
shifting through realm
and substance
The Green-Eyed Girl
BY HEATHER MEATHERALL
a green-eyed girl went walking
through the woods one summer night
when she came across a clearing
bathed in soft moonlight
she found some Fair Folk dancing
round a ring of mushrooms red
and when they caught her watching
come dance with us they said
The Names Carved on Stone
BY SAMUEL GLYN
I was lingering around old graveyards one day,
watching the ground soak up errant spirits.
On that day, the sun shone gangrenous,
surrounded by decaying clouds
and a deoxidised sky. Sat on a bench,
I watched the Dullahan go about their grim work.
I was not the only spectator.
Dance With the Fae: A Collection
BY HEATHER POWELL
Featuring Two Pieces:
The Fairy Ring
The Theft
Nostalgia
BY KAURA GRANDE
The world is changing around me
and not for the better
I long for screen-less nights
filled with words from
the fairy tale book
my mother would read us
stacked three deep in a king-sized bed
making shapes in the shadows
her voice carrying us to faraway kingdoms
The Melody of Mushrooms
BY JORDAN NISHKIAN
We’ve kept the fairy ring in the backyard alive
for the last nine years, feeding it
with circles of footfall
each equinox at dusk, so
spores trickle from their gills
planting offspring between near blades—
new stars in their cosmos,
new clouds in their nebulae