Poem: "A Perfect Cabinet of Oddities"
Sep. 3rd, 2024 11:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ysabetwordsmithHere is today's first freebie, courtesy of new prompter scrubjayspeaks. It also fills the "Service Animals" square in my 9-1-24 card for the People with Disabilities Drabble Fest fest. This poem belongs to the series Monster House.
"A Perfect Cabinet of Oddities"
When my daughter started junior high,
she got an assignment to explore
career options with her family.
So that weekend, we packed
everyone into the car and then
drove out to Changeling Acres.
It was a big, sprawling farm
well outside of town and full of
folks who didn't handle noise well.
My daughter, being blind, wasn't
a big fan of noise either, because
that made it harder to hear whatever
was actually happening all around her.
Plus it annoyed her seeing-eye gremlin.
"What's it like?" she asked as we parked.
"Everything smells so interesting here!"
"I can see cows, horses, chickens, cats,
and dogs," said my son. "Over there
is a big garden and also an orchard."
One of the grannies who ran the farm
met us in the parking lot and gave us
a tour of the place, pointing out some
of the different jobs that people did.
As we explored, we noticed that
some of the people were different.
A girl who worked with the cows
and kept them comfortable had
a cow tail peeking past her skirt.
One in the orchard had feet
that could turn backwards
like those of a squirrel.
"I bet she can climb trees
like nobody's business,"
said my wife. "That's why
the squirrels can hang
upside down, their feet."
The boy in charge of
training dogs to become
service animals stared at
us with strange silver eyes.
"I like the beekeeper,"
my daughter said as she
listened to his lecture about
taking care of the hives and
what wildflower were best.
"He sounds like buzzing."
She couldn't even see
the faint gold hexagons
shimmering on his cheek.
The woman who tended
the chickens measured out
their grain meticulously.
Whoever it was training
the horses, we never met,
because as soon as they
saw us, they hopped on one
bareback and galloped away
over the hills of the pasture.
A girl about my daughter's age
introduced herself as the Collector.
"I keep the souvenirs, and things
that show the farm's history," she said,
showing us a whole room filled with
thrown horseshoes, colorful feathers,
cornshuck dolls, and painted pumpkins.
"There's cheese in the cold case,
and apple butter on the shelves,"
she added, pointing to them.
Everything was labeled in
handwriting so fine that it
almost looked typewritten.
The Collector explained which
of the things were for sale and
which ones were just for looking.
"I wonder why she collects all
of this odd stuff," my son murmured.
"Well, that's how you know a changeling,"
I said. "She is a perfect cabinet of oddities."
"Do you think they're all changelings?"
my daughter asked. "They seem
like interesting people either way."
"Humans can be peculiar too," I said.
Then I shrugged. "Or maybe the feyblood
is just farther back than anyone remembers."
"That can happen," my wife agreed. "Folks
move around, and people forget things. It's
why unexpected features can pop up, whether
it's red hair or a cow's tail or someone who's
faster than a calculator doing math in his head."
"That makes sense," my daughter said. "I
guess it doesn't matter why people want
a quiet place to work, as long as they
have somewhere that suits them.
They do sound happy here."
The high, choppy laugh of
the boy minding the kittens
floated through the screen door.
"So what do you think?" I asked
her. "Does this seem like a place
that you might enjoy working?"
She tilted her head. "I suppose,"
she said. "It's quiet enough. I like
all the smells from the flowers and
herbs! Though not so much animals."
"Well, that's a farm for you -- full of
smells, good and bad," said my wife.
"It's nice, but it's not very exciting,"
my daughter said. Then she chuckled.
The boy with the silver eyes was
silently holding out his hand for
the seeing-eye gremlin to sniff.
"I might make some friends
here though," she concluded.
* * *
Notes:
"I believe that creature is a changeling: she is a perfect cabinet of oddities."
-- Charlotte Bronte
Service animals include the well-known seeing-eye dogs as well as less-famous ones like miniature horses that pull wheelchairs and helping hand monkeys that fetch things for paraplegics. Some cats and other animals can also be trained for tasks.
Changelings have long been associated with autism and other neurovariations. Read the descriptions and you can easily see why. Here's a discussion from the prompt and some stories about neurodiverse changelings.
scrubjayspeaks. It also fills the "Service Animals" square in my 9-1-24 card for the People with Disabilities Drabble Fest fest. This poem belongs to the series Monster House."A Perfect Cabinet of Oddities"
When my daughter started junior high,
she got an assignment to explore
career options with her family.
So that weekend, we packed
everyone into the car and then
drove out to Changeling Acres.
It was a big, sprawling farm
well outside of town and full of
folks who didn't handle noise well.
My daughter, being blind, wasn't
a big fan of noise either, because
that made it harder to hear whatever
was actually happening all around her.
Plus it annoyed her seeing-eye gremlin.
"What's it like?" she asked as we parked.
"Everything smells so interesting here!"
"I can see cows, horses, chickens, cats,
and dogs," said my son. "Over there
is a big garden and also an orchard."
One of the grannies who ran the farm
met us in the parking lot and gave us
a tour of the place, pointing out some
of the different jobs that people did.
As we explored, we noticed that
some of the people were different.
A girl who worked with the cows
and kept them comfortable had
a cow tail peeking past her skirt.
One in the orchard had feet
that could turn backwards
like those of a squirrel.
"I bet she can climb trees
like nobody's business,"
said my wife. "That's why
the squirrels can hang
upside down, their feet."
The boy in charge of
training dogs to become
service animals stared at
us with strange silver eyes.
"I like the beekeeper,"
my daughter said as she
listened to his lecture about
taking care of the hives and
what wildflower were best.
"He sounds like buzzing."
She couldn't even see
the faint gold hexagons
shimmering on his cheek.
The woman who tended
the chickens measured out
their grain meticulously.
Whoever it was training
the horses, we never met,
because as soon as they
saw us, they hopped on one
bareback and galloped away
over the hills of the pasture.
A girl about my daughter's age
introduced herself as the Collector.
"I keep the souvenirs, and things
that show the farm's history," she said,
showing us a whole room filled with
thrown horseshoes, colorful feathers,
cornshuck dolls, and painted pumpkins.
"There's cheese in the cold case,
and apple butter on the shelves,"
she added, pointing to them.
Everything was labeled in
handwriting so fine that it
almost looked typewritten.
The Collector explained which
of the things were for sale and
which ones were just for looking.
"I wonder why she collects all
of this odd stuff," my son murmured.
"Well, that's how you know a changeling,"
I said. "She is a perfect cabinet of oddities."
"Do you think they're all changelings?"
my daughter asked. "They seem
like interesting people either way."
"Humans can be peculiar too," I said.
Then I shrugged. "Or maybe the feyblood
is just farther back than anyone remembers."
"That can happen," my wife agreed. "Folks
move around, and people forget things. It's
why unexpected features can pop up, whether
it's red hair or a cow's tail or someone who's
faster than a calculator doing math in his head."
"That makes sense," my daughter said. "I
guess it doesn't matter why people want
a quiet place to work, as long as they
have somewhere that suits them.
They do sound happy here."
The high, choppy laugh of
the boy minding the kittens
floated through the screen door.
"So what do you think?" I asked
her. "Does this seem like a place
that you might enjoy working?"
She tilted her head. "I suppose,"
she said. "It's quiet enough. I like
all the smells from the flowers and
herbs! Though not so much animals."
"Well, that's a farm for you -- full of
smells, good and bad," said my wife.
"It's nice, but it's not very exciting,"
my daughter said. Then she chuckled.
The boy with the silver eyes was
silently holding out his hand for
the seeing-eye gremlin to sniff.
"I might make some friends
here though," she concluded.
* * *
Notes:
"I believe that creature is a changeling: she is a perfect cabinet of oddities."
-- Charlotte Bronte
Service animals include the well-known seeing-eye dogs as well as less-famous ones like miniature horses that pull wheelchairs and helping hand monkeys that fetch things for paraplegics. Some cats and other animals can also be trained for tasks.
Changelings have long been associated with autism and other neurovariations. Read the descriptions and you can easily see why. Here's a discussion from the prompt and some stories about neurodiverse changelings.
(no subject)
Date: 2024-09-04 06:35 am (UTC)You're welcome!
Date: 2024-09-04 06:53 am (UTC)Re: You're welcome!
Date: 2024-09-04 06:30 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2024-09-08 03:05 pm (UTC)genesmagic.Well, I know where *I* want to work! :D
Thoughts
Date: 2024-09-09 08:37 am (UTC)Yeah, that showed up when she was much younger.
>> "Or maybe the feyblood//is just farther back than anyone remembers."
I really like this concept. Recessive genes magic. <<
Both, really. You see it with selkies too.
>>Well, I know where *I* want to work! :D
I'm glad you like the farm.