the woman unfurled

Sep 02, 2005 17:41

Still finding my way back to speaking poetry like a native. More blasphemous smooshing of faery tales, this time "The Ugly Duckling" and "The Seven Swans." Also, I am not the world's fastest poet, but if you like this one and Incarnadine and would like one of your own, I will write a poem for every donation of five dollars or above to The Red Cross for Katrina relief. Just forward me your receipt with the names of two faery tales of your choice (if you can find online versions of them, that would be good in case I haven't read them) to amphibiouswords at gmail dot com.

And now, the poem.

Wingspan

She has never quite fit
outsized and angled
she could have webbed feet
she thinks and not be less
the daughter her mother wanted.

Her mother's chambers are neat
her mother petite and graceful
she sits very still
looks at her mother not look at her.

She tracks swans across the sky
and dreams of flying.

She thinks if I had wings
if I had
if I
the swans cry
if
if
if
and glide on the water.

She swims with them
though the loch is cold
all but one move away from her
like her mother
swans are also graceful.

The one who stays lets her touch
lets her pretend his wings are hers
her webbed feet his
her mother loves them both.

Then she follows him to the lodge
learns what her mother gave up for a daughter.

She says you cheated my mother
you cheated my
you cheated
the faery smiles
you
you
you
and offers a bargain.

For seven years she does not speak
does not smile laugh cry
for seven years she binds herself
to earth
to free her brothers of wings.

She climbs trees to be near them
they bring her berries and grain
more nettles for weaving
the shirts grow slow in her hands.

She cannot refuse the lord when he finds her
her finger scratched and bleeding in his ring.

She dreams give me a bargain
give me a
give me
his mother spits
give
give
give
and waits for her child.

She is round as the moon
swollen and feverish
she yearns for an egg to drop
his mother's to carry
she is certain his mother knows.

When the baby vanishes they say she has eaten it
she nearly laughs
she has just pushed it out
why take it back in?

They decide she will burn for the crime
wood and rope another way to bind her.

She wants wings and white feathers
wings and white
wings and
her brothers scream
wings
wings
wings
and attack the cart.

She holds out shirts
they dive in close
fall men to the ground
all but one
still winged at one shoulder.

There was no time to finish the sleeve
no time before the nettles
would have burned with her
ashes bound and seven swans mourning.

She watches her brother watch her
holding the one wing that is theirs.

He says this wing is yours
this wing is
this wing
the crowd gasps
this
this
this
and moves in closer.

She shakes her head
sees the faery with her child
sees his mother's face black with rage
feels his ring
too heavy and tight on her finger.

The faery offers another bargain
brother for child
wing for arm
strikes down his mother and waits.

Her brother plucks a single feather
and holds it out to her.

He says sister take hold
sister take
sister
all echoes die
in the sibilance
he sounds like a swan.

She breaks seven years' silence,
you could have your freedom
he says fly with me
it's all the freedom I know
all I want.

He says sister take hold.

She sees herself tall and swan-limbed in his eyes
she looses breath in a harsh sound like a bird
laughing or screaming
she will bargain no more.

She gives the ring to the lord
he says stay for my sake
stay for my--
ring or babe she tells him
it's your choice now.

Babe or ring she tells the faery
who smiles.

Her brother stands still
the feather dances in his hand
wanting to fly.

She tears the nettles away that trap them both
touches bloodied fingers to dancing feather
takes hold and flies
takes hold and
takes hold.

END

mythpunk, po'try!

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