Dwelf

we were neither the gold hunters

for whom dragons are worthwhile, scaled

hearts beating to our drum and tramp

nor the long eared mystics sublime and nostalgic

for the other world, teleologically nostalgic,

who are better than we deserve or can aspire to.

We were written out of the evil good struggle

for we are neither being both, unsided

since two sided, so blindsided

by being each, kaleidoscopes in which

the shapes change according to turns of the hand,

folding in one another as times and hands unfold,

unfolding from each other as folding mountains. Yes

we were written out of the myths since our mothers

are our fathers and myth has little time for the mixed,

so I have coined this name, dwelf, to describe us

so we can be inscribed, written out

not written out, and so ascribed to us

the things we’ve done, we are, our place and home.

You won’t find us in the tale or tell, we are in

the eyes reading it. Look for us where you can’t see

we are curiously human.

Photo by eberhard 🖐 grossgasteiger on Unsplash