Jack Haven

"Elegy for Innocence"

A spirited girl once lived in this village.
I watched every morning from a mountain
of hay for her to come out of the forest
dancing through the mists that covered

the streets of town just before dawn.
She'd always come twirling, her arms
extended embracing the world all around
her at the coming of day. Her wildly

flowing brown hair shone as she strolled
past the market to help all the farmers
with their morning chores. All she asked in return
were flowers and straw with which to braid

her soft hair into delicate strands that would wave
as she danced about town. When she saw me
she'd smile, and I could not help but smile back
at her glistening eyes. Some days she might

drift to the baker's wife's house and take
her six laughing children out to the lake
where they'd play and tell stories about pirates
and ghosts and buried treasure hidden by mermaids

in castles under the waves. On starry bright nights
when the air was warm and the moon
sailed ablaze over clear lilac skies,
she'd throw off her clothes and frolic

past the well into a field of tulips,
holding one of each color and offering them
up to the stars, coaxing them sweetly to stay
just one more hour past dawn.

On cloudy days she'd come out and dash
under porches and trees. I marveled to learn
from her merry lips that she and the sun
were playing hide-and-go-seek. She

made up many games and played them
with whomever would: how-wet-can-you-get
and who-has-the-fastest-milch-cow. The most fun
to play was how-much-of-the-yellow-water-

the-pub-sells-can-you-drink-without-falling-over.
The village would gather each Sunday to watch
her beat ten grown men who had drunk so much
they had to be carried to their waiting beds.

We'd sit around the well and watch her tell stories
about dragons and witches and wonderful wizards
who could turn into rabbits and talk to squirrels.
Then sleep came upon us and we welcomed it in.

One day a man came: a Lord. He told us
our town had become filthy and poor
due to our slack bearing and lazy form.
We were to follow a new order now and deny

our company to that girl we cherished.
The town grieved but by threats and fear
we were moved to obey and forbid the girl near
our children, our crops, ourselves, and our play.

Laughter was stifled and joy overrun.
Preferred were speed, efficiency, yield.
The girl still came but our time was ill-spent
frolicking or dancing or picking tulips all day.

The girl's blue eyes turned red, and her skin dried
and cracked. Her visage turned yellow and sickly
and lax. She begged me, at last, to listen to a story
or at least watch the sun set with her.

I touched her leathery skin and saw all I'd done
by leaving behind all of her fun. But I kept
going as she collapsed and I smothered a daisy
into the mud with my boot while cursing the rain

for the discomfort it caused me on my way to work.
I want to grieve for the loss of her radiant brow
and her crystal eyes' glow, but I'm grateful
she's not here to see how far I've come.

To replace fun with order and love with law,
joy with sin and smiles with tears,
is truly a feat only we who loved
her so must always poison her with.

Today the memory of her is all but faded
into the ethereal mists whence she came.
My children still see her and watch her sweet
dance, but to me she's the ghost of a rapture

long past. We kill her each at our own time
and place just as I let drown after falling prostrate
in the mud that horrid day. Her red lips never
to whisper again the mysteries of a bird's song

or the aria of a dandelion's free flight
after a gentle wind has blown it to heights
unknowable by man except at his youth.
Someday I think I'll see her again

at my side as I die, when all thought
of sin or success has been swept aside
and all that exists is her and the clouds.
And after the pain of this world I have made

sets me free from my body again,
she'll take me by hand and fly me away
through purples and reds and orange brush strokes
and into that place far away where her spirit remains.