There’s a story in this, girls,
and it doesn’t have any wolves
in it for now, though you never know
what might come down the lane,
in Neverland, especially near
that mermaid bog of old.
Which is the gateway to
Themyscira, truth be told,
though no one ever seems
to want to know
where the Lost Girls go
after we fall, nanny’s eyes
misty and indulgent
on the showboating boys,
meaning fewer of them end up
bait for the croc and the hook
and Peter’s tricky ego
and more of them grow up
to prowl the regular streets,
sharpening claws on the regular air.
So when my poor distracted
daddy left me alone outside
the frosted panels of his legal
office door, I fussily pitched
over the side of my pram,
though I like to think that
natural curiosity gave me
a boost and a leg up.
Then plunk
in the iridescent waters
fizzing with wails and tails,
the sidewalk melting
into mermaids
who dragged me down
to the depths where I
apparently needed to be,
and I floated on their singing
to the hidden shore
of the women warriors
who trained me to keep
and uncover secrets,
to know which to guard,
which to expose,
and how to track clues
to the lairs of the everyday
demons and outwit them
before they claim and defile
another hallowed grail.
Kate Falvey’s work has been published in many journals and anthologies in the U.S., Ireland, and the U.K.; in a full-length collection, The Language of Little Girls (David Robert Books); and in two chapbooks. She co-founded (with Monique Ferrell) and edited the 2 Bridges Review, which was published through City Tech/CUNY, where she teaches, and is an associate editor for the Bellevue Literary Review.