February 15, 2010 § 14 Comments
Fierce steel tulips surround the crooked cottage Snow White calls her home.
She’s older now, and faded Buddhist flags announce her pacifism.
Stop now, the tulips say, enough is enough.
No more, the flags join in, enough is enough.
Courtesy of her seven beaus, the yard is strewn with rusty shards,
metal scrap, planted to deter the Queen’s atomic mushrooms.
Not here, the red buds call, never again.
All is good, the grackles screech, let us be.
Early mornings, Snowy’s on her knees digging tunnels to house her troops.
They bow their ferny heads and accept their fate, grateful to feed her dream.
We’re free, the stones reflect, we wear the sun.
We’re safe, the roots agree, it’s cool and dark.
Each noon, her teeth and tongue tingle with the garden’s savory treats. Evenings,
she sinks into her battered chair; the Seven massage her feet with gentle hands.
It’s here, the live oaks hum, it’s here now.
Rest well, the gray doves coo, dream of peace.
At midnight, Snowy tiptoes out to latch the sculpted gate.
The rooster crows.