Poetry By Catherine Fahey

Warren LeMay CC



There’s often a woman

in fairytales
who lives in a house,
in the heart of the woods,
deep in the kingdom; 
there’s often a woman
who watches over 
lost children and runaway 
brides, who hides from
hunters and travelers alike, 
who speaks in creeks,
who hears through hawks,
who opens or closes 
the road depending 
on who walks upon it.

There’s often a woman
in the woods
with no shoes
who has run out 
in the middle of the night
with no other choice.

There’s often a fairytale
about a woman
who lives in the woods, 
who once lived in town; 
and doesn’t care now
what the townsfolk think --
that’s what she says
and knows the lie — 
she cares so deeply so
given the choice
she gives her hair
to the forest crown
and her feet to 
mycelia. She 
encircles the town. 
She gave her heart
to the bees; she keeps
up with the news. 
 
Often in the woods
there are stories of an old woman
who lived there years ago. 
That clump of rocks 
is called Witches’ Cauldron,
which is atop Hag’s Hill,
which is next to Maiden’s Leap,
near The Devil’s Gash,
which is a gate to hell. Or
maybe it was a root cellar. 

There’s often a woman 
who lives in the woods,
who’s been run out of town — 
for not following the path,
for twirling at night,
and cutting her hair;
there’s often a woman
whose cattle are better, 
(they’re not her cattle
anymore) whose house 
is larger (it’s not 
her house anymore); 
The woman in the woods
did not start 
out there. 

The woman in the woods
is sick of this shit. She is 
other: world wise and weary.
She does not share her location.

​

​Catherine Fahey is a poet & librarian from Salem, Massachusetts. Her work appears in Gargoyle, Corvid Queen, Coffin Bell, and other journals.You can read more of her work at www.magpiepoems.com