behind my back
getting ready for my demise
she eats the apple and sets the trap
and watches through wicked eyes
her left hand fills my easter basket
her right hand digs my grave
with crooked smile and tender touch
she makes me her little slave
she looks in the mirror to set her hair
she needs to look just so
with hood pulled over a vacant face
she marches me through the snow
and as the hours whittle away
the birds call me outside
showing me where to run and fly
helping me now, to hide
but the altar’s ready and the time is near
and i lay my neck on the stone
a little poppet that’s all used up
a dolly that can never go home.
4.19.2010
denelle hobbs
Posted on April 20, 2010, in mess of life, poetry and tagged altar, apples, grave, manipulation, poetry, sacrifice, snow, snow white, tragic endings, wicked. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.
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