Snow White

There was something too red about her heart.
She carried a black magic in her throat
that sang the birds to silence.
Everything stopped growing in the forest
except apple trees and shadows
and even the rumors grew
more poisonous.

She was enchanted by mirrors.
They lined the walls of her castle
and whispered, the ghosts
of pretty things trapped inside.
She stood in front of them sometimes,
too dark and too terrible
to see her own reflection.

She had to go.  The forest bloomed with bonfires
and we marched, an army
through skeletons that broke apart
like dry leaves underfoot.
We fell upon her and cut until we found her heart
and pulled it, fluttering and childlike,
from her still-fearful chest,

too dark and too terrible
to see our own reflections.

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3 thoughts on “Snow White

  1. Ah, I like the narrative here. It is an interesting take on a “Snow White” motif!

    • elephantdog says:

      Thanks! Reworking fairy tales is one of my favorite writing exercises. I’m trying to pin down a good one of Cinderella but it’s more tricky somehow…

  2. […] recently submitted my poem Snow White to the fairy-tale e-zine Enchanted Conversations. I was absolutely delighted when the owner, Kate, […]

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