“The Goblin Queene” by Marisca Pichette

What have you brought for the Goblin
Queene?
The wind carries spores and dandelion
seeds; in cold springs
pollywogs shiver while
striders snap their legs

All in praise
Of the Goblin Queene.

What have you brought her
to tell of the land
Above?
Ants carry potions of quince
and quartz dressed in gingham
threads. Toads sing
Of fireflies, bottle caps, sage
incense blooming from gaping
Mouths.

Do you have a song
for the Goblin Queene?
Did you write her letters
from the sky?
Pen like the bats, whose odes
to chrome, milkweed, rust
fill her caves each night.

The Goblin Queene is waiting
on a barnacle and obsidian throne.
Tides of mildew rise and fall
while feasters gaze at you,
to you for all you’ve seen.

Present your gifts, for we know
and she knows
how fruits adorn your throne
with ivy arbors and wine running
across river stones.

And yet you bring no gifts—
no letters, songs, or rhymes.
Silent and still you face her
across an underworld of crumbling
Stone.

To the Goblin Queene
you offer just one thing:
A glimpse of hazy starlight,
weakened in the depths
muffled by this kingdom
asleep beneath the grave.

The Goblin Queene sees you here—
uncovered, unguarded, unashamed—
and before her people (and none
of your own) she speaks a vow
in lichen and shale:

“Tonight,” she calls to earth and worms
“There are two Queenes
of the dark.”

And above?

In your realm of dreams
faerie rings and endless dawns—
are none.

Marisca Pichette cherishes darkness. More of her work appears in Strange Horizons, The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, and Fantasy Magazine, among others. Her speculative poetry collection, Rivers in Your Skin, Sirens in Your Hair, is out now from Android Press. Find her on Twitter as @MariscaPichette and Instagram as @marisca_write.