Fir-Tàilisg by Alexandra Fössinger

I once knew a boy
who could speak the
languages of birds,
great tit, robin, thrush.

 Certain moods would
transform him into a tree,      
though this would catch him
by surprise each time.             

 He entered rooms as a stranger,
wearing his foliage,
heart-shaped linden leaves
covering his chest in
a trembling attempt
to make him invulnerable.

 An unblurred visitor
unaffected by the poverty
of outer life,
I watched him running up hills
and cover them in signs,
landmarks to anchor him in space,
always quicker than rain,
pearl-capped, singing and whistling,
a breeze and a calling.

 He would pin down matter
to preserve the memory of
his imperturbable ancestors
whom he’d recognize years later,
with the reverence of homecoming
in the brewing storm,
the pieces of a Norse chessboard.

 Earthbound and skyborne,
he never needed absolution:
it was spelt into him,
the supple birth gift of his craft.

 Though this was a dream,
I let it spiral down into reification,
above and below shifting
in my body. When I awoke
in a cloud of petrichor,
I remembered a rustling of leaves,
and a tiny king on my chest,
his eyes wide open.

Alexandra Fössinger is a German/Italian native speaker from Italy. Having lived in Germany, Sweden, and France, she is fluent in several languages; her poems, which she writes mainly in English, try to express those multilingual experiences. She has just recently started submitting them, and so far, two pieces are forthcoming in Eunoia Review. She currently works as a creative director for an Italian advertising agency.