Marlene
Who granted you a name, when your brother has none?
Certainly you deserve one, after all you’ve lived through—
Watching your brother’s head
Roll off
Because you tapped him on the ear
As though you’d tugged the branches of the trees
Just a little too hard
And apples and pears came tumbling
Down to rot
Why did you have to ask for that apple?
Its skin was shiny as blood
Its flesh as white as your brother’s pale neck
You should have known no good could come of it
You watched your family
(what was left of it)
Go on as if nothing was wrong
The way so many families do
As if the floor wasn’t littered with body parts
As if the blood hadn’t seeped through the stone
You became the bearer of burdens
A pocketful of bones
They stung like salt
On open wounds
Your brother sang your courage
And dried your tears
But he couldn’t drown out the sound
Of bones singing their darker song
Clittering and clattering
Like memories clutched
In your palm
Thousandfurs
Love can be a horror
Rank as the scent of animal skin
The slip-scratch of raw leather against
Tender flesh
The hood hiding your golden hair
Your blue eyes
You breathe in a creature that
Died—
For you
An animal gave its life
To keep you concealed
Invisible
Safe
From starving eyes
Sacrifice is love
Cloaked, in a different
Guise
You must eat the meat
Even without salt, my
Dear
Dear deer
Bitter love
Invading your veins
Like the minerals from that meat
The iron makes you slow and heavy
With the weight
Of grief
But strong enough, too
To run
From one castle to another, to a land of
Gold-green fields and serene blue streams
A land where the sun shines too bright
To wear your cloak of skin
Your coat of a thousand
Creatures’ fur
All the people here, in this castle where you work
In the kitchens, in the cellars—they eye you with
Suspicion
They know only a benevolent ruler, only the soft
Sun’s love, caressing their bare flesh
They know only the taste of
Sweet, salted meat
They don’t know the love that
Freezes and
Burns
The love you choke down your
Gagging throat
Your curse is a gift. Unlike those sun-soaked
Folk, you recognize the treasure hidden in a
Walnut shell, the ring concealed in a cake
Or soup
You know better than to trust, to swallow it
Whole. But even the wrong sort of love
Has its lessons, its
Rewards—
A ring can be hollow and
Unbroken, empty and
Entire
Like a soup without
Seasoning
A cake without
Sugar
Meat without
Salt—
Like an old cloak hung to wait
On a hook
Till the moment you must slip
Its skin back
Over yours
Stephanie Parent is a lifelong lover of fairy tales, especially the darkest, most disturbing ones, and an author of poetry and prose. Connect with her on Twitter at @SC_Parent.
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