At the seniors’ home,
I see that the tips of the old man’s ears are missing.
Cancer, he says.
A long time ago, but he can’t remember when.
He would have to ask his daughter.
He is old, but his eyes are young,
clear and mischievous.
He knows things he shouldn’t know,
secrets of my own life I intended to take to the grave.
It’s too early to determine if he is friend or foe.
Should I nurture him?
Or should I kill him?
I bring him a coffee and we talk for hours.
He is displaced,
but he doesn’t know where he’s from.
Another country?
Or somewhere else?
I assume he’s a changeling,
switched at birth in the nursery,
probably for a human baby.
His daughter arrives and I am bewitched.
She has power,
but she uses it sparingly,
for important things,
like tending to the care and safety of her father.
She tries to use it on me.
She doesn’t know I’m immune.
When she turns her head,
her long hair swings and
I catch a brief glimpse of her fairy ears.
She notices me looking,
knows that her secret is exposed.
She’s wondering.
Should I charm him?
Or should I kill him?
I pull back my own long hair
to show her my own fairy ears.
It’s okay. Your father is in good hands here.