Supposedly Yours, Snow White

Wolf Guard (originally written 6/10/19)

They have asked me to keep watch, hanging me here at the entrance to the gates with little more than a set of wooden runes, strung together by an ivory disk. Every time the spirit speaks, the pipes clink together and announce the death knell of an old millenium and the dawn of a new era. Make no bones about it, I will not let any danger pass without opposition. I have the nose of Fenrir and I will sniff out foul play. Now all I have to do is kill time until the inevitable danger strikes.

Evidence of Ugliness

It was not the ugliness that shattered the mirror, but the fine shrill dissonance of a shackled scream. Echoes built on agony spiraled outward just like one would have hoped, signaling the end of her torment and the ushering in of the beginning of my own. You cannnot reject shame, after all; it is the repulsion of ignroance and grace with double the negative that plays on the photograph of the mind. Testify in your soul garden all you want, but ultimately, court has already been adjourned and death is the only indisputable evidence. No, it has been ruled; you are not the fairest of them all.

The Glass Apple 10/28/2020

I found a glass apple floating in the water of the wishing well and I wondered, Who made it? Where did it come from? Why is it here, now, in this well where I wish for my dreams to come true?

No prince would arrive on a white horse, surely. Even I knew that, no matter what my mother tried to tell me. She dressed me in rags to make me more sympathetic and appear vulnerable to any egocentric hero types passing by. The nerve of it all. The humiliation, the embarrassment.

I looked again at the shining, translucent, light-bending surface of the glass apple and wondered what I would wish for if I had thrown it in myself. Would I wish for a return to innocence, freedom from this gilded cage, or the "one true love" all the other princesses told me was the one thing I should hope for in this life?

One thing was for certain; I could not eat this apple made of glass. I could not crush my tongue on anything so fragile. So ridiculously fragile, the apple. Who in their right mind would make something out of glass?

Enter: Cinderella.

Snow White at the Mall 5/1/2018

Snow White Searched through the mall directory looking for apparel. She needed some thing that wouldn't make her look dead. Innocent, but not jail bait. Vulnerable, but not future-sexual-assault-survivor. Resurrected, not rotting. Forever 21 or H&M? Decisions, decisions. On the way past the Hallmark store, she saw a cartoon-like representation of herself in a snow globe and smiled. In Hot Topic she purchased a T-shirt with a screenprinted girl in a dress of red, yellow, and blue and and immediately changed into it in the food court restroom. No one would ever know she was so much more. Finally she made her mistake. A shiny, open, white and gleaming store with dozens of shimmering screens beckoned. An associate with silver hair and a logo in blazoned on her polo approached her immediately. Hi I am the tech queen around here today. Are you looking to get an Apple?

Snow White's Birthday

Today is my birthday,

I am told
go out and play in the snow child
but I hear
go and die I feel old, child

Believe in the best
but still hear just the worst
and that icy sting death
of the snow child's curse

I will hear what I want
and if boys are sweet
In the Spring I may pick up
the frogs at my feet

but I'll not kiss the best
one for days upon days
Till the red rose arrives
I will give the moon praise

Go out and play
in the autumn streaked rain
In the woods lightning strikes and illuminates pain

The seasons I travel will be closely watched
for today is my birthday and Life's on the clock

Queen of Spades 12/10/16 poem

Here, here is this apple
Take it and you will know
all you do not need to know
All you should not know

Do you want to know?

Do not pretend you do not know
who I am
or, do -
Pretend away

Let's pretend you are innocent in death
and innocent in life
and you are
At least, on the surface

Under the surface of snow
is a sheet of black ice
You see, I know this because
I am you in 50 years

I am You
and You
took the apple from Me

Apple, Underneath

Everyone looking at the apple
barely noticed the stem
its prickly black and thorny exterior
flaking awake and flaking away
to reveal and revel
in a sudden, subtle shimmer of gold

Winter Child

A fresh coat of snow hides the first signs of blood after a stillbirth. The cries that never came echo in the space between flakes swirling silk around the sadness. Shhhh... they say, shhhhh... try again in spring and bring us the winter child.

The queen awakens in the bedchamber with a cool dampness in her palm. Uncurling the tightly clasped fingers of one hand with the more nimble digits of the other, there rests a silver feathery star from last night. It is gone before the memories return because the fire blazed at that instant to hide the magical message from the eyes of an intruding servant.

A murmur of thanks almost escapes her lips but gets stuck on the uneasy numbness of her face, held hostage by that prefered paralysis and fortunate forgetting.

It is done. The bargain made for the replacement child is forgotten. The fire goes out, its job now completed as the queen rises to pay tribute to the morning. Tomorrow her health will improve and vigor return but by then the fate will be sealed for her, her kingdom, and that of the winter child.

Begin with the Birds

It all started when people stopped paying attention to the birds. As they flew this way and that, everyone was out buying pumpkins for All Hallow's Eve. No one noticed the disciplined murder of crows melding with the wind eddies in perfect formation. Landing silently on the outstretched limbs of the scarecrow's arms, their conical beaks turned and their white onyx eyes met and discussed their plans wordlessly. The straw guardian of the olden times had no power - not yet - it was a hollow threat until the townspeople lit its head on fire from within. Jack o'lantern, indeed.

They had forgotten to watch the birds. The birds would have told them when Straw Jack would awaken.

They had also forgotten to count the birds. The numbers told the direction the seasons were heading and their swiftness foretold the number of weeks they had before the ancient surprise.

Most importantly, they let them land. Once the birds landed, it was all predetermined. Now we wait.

Messengers 1/7/18 poem

For the birds that land are messengers
Lest we die of joy at the vision of angels
So did Psyche burn from the sight of Cupid's wings
Consumed by wonder before love could speak
As death sung the elegy of dimmed brigthness

Snow White looked to the birds for advice
But when they could not reach heven, they flocked to her

Remember that

Waiting

I know what it is like to wait for someone so long that you start to imagine their key in the door, the echo of the lock turning as your expectations heighten and crash in slow waves of disappointment.

I ask you, what good does it do to marry a prince if the castle bedchamber is always empty? Does the woods hold more maidens for his fancy? Is there more than one truth to the kiss of love? I need no answers, only an end to this monotony. Spare me the snowakes of pity that you shower from above as they gently dust my eyelids and cheekbones.

I am no Snow White, not anymore. I am black ice, unseen but for the danger wreaked on those who imagine they are the ones in control. He has made me this way, after all. One does not awaken the winter queen into the live fruits of spring without cost. As summer approaches, the coolness of my demeanor clashes with the heat of barren earth. Drought has laid the normally golden cornstalks a sickly brown.

Good.

Burn, summer, burn.

Rotting Pumpkins

The pumpkins have started to rot, thank goodness. Their decaying mush reminds us that autumn was supposed to surrender to winter long ago. That ridiculous pumpkin patch has been taunting me for far too long.

I had no choice; in the velvety dark of the village backroads I packed the last orange orb into the back of the wagon and traveled the lane until I reached the area where travelers often stop to check their maps, eventually discovering they had gone too far.

I already knew I had gone too far and I was not afraid. I was not but that little white swan would be soon if I had my way. I grabbed the roughly grooved wooden stem and hoisted, using the momentum to propel me toward the treeline with all the grace of an animal. When I reached the tree line, I pitched the round weight towards the stream, watching as it rolled and lost a few slices of the outer skin along the way.

The little orange globes oozed puss from the base and spread across the ground to add unwanted fertilizer along with a putrid stench. How revolting. I loved it. She would no doubt see it on her next morning stroll around the palace grounds. The message would be clear for the Autumn Queen: Winter is coming.

♠︎♠︎♠︎

Sometime after the first frost, she went down to the riverbank to search for any signs of seeds and scandal. Would the rotten remains be at all conspicuous? Would the cinderslut care? No, she would not mind if the entire town could see the separating sides of the once proud orange rotunda. Sad pumpkin with its pump now gone, the kin now disowned by its squash brethren from the cucurbitaceae family. No, no more time could be wasted on that ridiculous clown of a girl dressing up in her mother's clothes and putting on lipstick when she did not even want a prince. Unless of course she was willing to pursue other options. Perhaps it would finally be time to stop pouting lips like a doll-child and finally see the dollmaker within. It might even be time to add the voicebox and pull the string.

Slumped with relief from misplaced hatred, Snow thaws for just a heartbeat while the river seeps through a crack in the frozen surface. Then the wind of no regret blows sharp and fierce once more and the moment is gone. The current of the water is suspended in time - much like the dawning realization that almost broke through with its healing light.

Snow White, Awake

I am not quite awake, but not still asleep. That is the best time to create wonder because there are fewer mind filters, The voices of authority that make us believe certain things are impossible must shut their mouths and be quiet for once. Just once. How I treasure that silence, gold and silvery soft like the first sunrise bringing forth the glow on the first frost. As the frost melts, I remember all that I have tried to forget and I want to crawl back into the deep down bedspread of my heavily draped cage.

Foolish, I know. The Almighty will get bored and the world will turn whether I wish it to or not. Tell me, would it insult our Father in Heaven if I did not go out and bear witness to His beautiful day? Would I be punished to the dark for all eternity? Spare me your righteous indignation. At least the cave I inhabit offers some safe haven, a refuge against the hands, the lips, and overly warm press of torso that makes my upper lip curl in disgust. Prince Charming, I think not.

Evil, masquerading as good. A deliverer of truth and justice committing the ultimate betrayal. A prince, a man of God, engaging an innocent in sin and why? You, Lord, didn't stop it. Since You are all-powerful, I only assumed it was somehow sanctioned. So, here we are, watching the birds yet again in greater numbers than ever before and no one, not even God, seems to be watching.

I am not quite awake, but I am not dead either. Do not underestimate me; I will not be buried here.

Queen Speak

I give to you this mirror
impossible to clean
forever growing spotted
so beauty goes unseen

Scrub until you're weary
Exhaust yourself with lust
for that false crystal formation
which proves all turn to dust

Ashes to her ashes
Cinders turn to rust
Dancing until midnight
when magic undoes trust

Why, thank you, lovely angel
all that I'll never be
For giving me a reason
to take my place as queen

Goodbye Cinderella, Hello Snow White

The air is getting colder now
We are a tad bit older now
I hope you do not hold her now
Her sole will slip away

The sole of the shoe
The soul of your new
Found glory, sweet prince
Leaves fall as you fall in battle

Glitter coating the pine cones
Say goodbye to Cinderella, Hello Snow White

Hell's Angel - 12/12/15 poem

There's a castle in the forest
and a garden with a well
There are mirrors in the ballroom
and an angel wed in hell

Fight the dragon
Seize the castle
Climb the tower
Drink the well

Line the stars up
in the heavens
Get the angel
back from hell

Snow

Fog rests lightly on the icy lake, a frosted windowpane to the underworld.

Problem with Snow White

I have a problem with Snow White. Did she know what she was doing? Was the song at the well a spell (imagery unique to Disney movie) cast by Snow White, and a victory because it was that much better than the queen's attempts?

Dinner

At a dinner held by the queen, the spoon acts like a fun-house mirror, making every piece of food look like the red rough skin of a rotten apple.

Idea

Snow doesn't just try the 7 beds, she tries the 7 personalities too. Snow, now most beautiful/fairest, loses mystery with time as her daughter becomes the next princess.

Rant