Dover Crossing

by Edgar Mason

I have borne witness
To magic in the ferry terminals —
Fairy terminals.
Here your stories end.

The man with long gray hair,
The magus in the bomber coat
Who carried nothing with him
(A type, I would discover)
Smiled at the character I was —
Myself a type,
A Clever Child with a little book —
And I saw magic in the mysterious acronyms
And the grubby plastic chairs turned into
Fairy thrones.

As many miles wide
As there are letters in the alphabet.
A cabal of boy-changelings,
Changing money and tongues —
Parlay vou onglay?
Non, nous ne parlons pas la même langue.
I stared in wonder
At the lights of Calais.

Across that land of battles
I saw glimmering the chance of all my dreams
Of damp gray stone
And green grass
And the quiet glint of other things,
Just beyond the next corner —
It was no rue
But pleasure I found there.

And still the fairy terminus
Where the black-scarfed girls walk slowly
Marks the end of every story
As in twenty-six mile-wide letters
Every story is told again.

Edgar Mason has lived in Pennsylvania, France, Kansas, and a few other places besides. She is currently pursuing a degree in Classical Languages, and blogs here. Her favorite fruit is the plum, because it is spicy and sensual and really can't be consumed without the juice running over the chin.

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