love, a fairy tale

Kathleen Miniely

A Rumpelstiltskin spelt D I V O R C E
made off with my first born,
who was barely a twinkle,
never an eye's apple or a fairy's birth;

All the kings horses,
and all the kings men,
processing the issues while speaking only in I statements,
couldn't pull us back together again,
torn apart as we were,
by the three musketeers,
hovering in our psyches shadows,

And I could not hold any longer to a hope for a
happily ever after
that slid so easily through my fingers,

Hourglass sand,
gathered round my ankles
as the years passed
it became quick sand,
and I started forgetting how to dance.

I could hear you piper,
off in the distance,
trying to call,
and I never did believe the hype,
You aren't dangerous at all.

You will hold me when I laugh.
You will leave me alone when you cry,
I'll shoulder my own burdens,
If you could just place a palm,
flat against my breast bone,
a reminder to breath.

I lean into you for warmth,
then lean away,
the better to see you as you follow me through my darkest wood
picking up the hints I've left of
regret, heartbreak, disappointment.

Eventually, I find a cozy cabin
the sun streaming through the trees,
the wisdom of the witch,
and you, with gingerbread caught in your welcoming grin

We stoke the fire with the things we were told we could not be
as children
carry on conversations so interwoven they become the throned bushes,
holding us in a sacred circle.
We'll howl 52 times, a warning of fear,
and the 53rd
will rise clear to the moon

I'll only ever lie,
to myself, or because I believe it's true,
and I will huff and I will puff and I will blow you down,
when I know you are lying,
to yourself
or because you believe it's true,

We'll share perfectly warmed porridge,
cuddle together in a chair,
perfectly plump,
desert?  Pumpkin pie,
I cooked it up will dancing in
glass slippers, perfectly fitted,
at night we fall together,
wrapped around each other to dream of the wild things
so familiar to us now.
While the musketeers? Scratching at the doors,
and moaning on the wind
are kept at bay by the three bears,
curled up perfectly contented with the wolfe,
by the fire.

© Kathleen Miniely 2013


Listen at