The Messenger
Fairy tale lips will tell you where I’ve been-
forged paths to a distant relative,
hermit
they all are- locked up women in towers and cottages
waiting for kisses and bread.
Some heralds are princes, and some are wolves.
I am the only one wearing the color of a target,
daring
the ancient oaks to watch me,
as I greet woodland creatures waiting
to ensnare me,
eat my skin, pick clean their teeth with my spinal bones
I can’t let them bury my quiet corpse in golden leaves
before I’ve reigned a queendom- I was born with stars in my blood,
veins that glimmer and spread like the branches overhead
and the leaves, they watch
as they sever themselves from the treetops
to get closer to me
I’ve declared myself queen of the forest,
propped open my book of tales written with ink
blessed by a witch, rid of curses-
the leaves floating down to crown my head, touching me
once before telling the pile beneath them,
I just touched her, oh! I just touched the Queen!
And I walk toward painted sunsets, leaving shadows behind
my unkissed mouth reciting stories, turning them into decrees
for an arm ready to hold a scepter, a skull fit for a crown
I want them to know she is nature
she walks alone and steady, she tore teeth from beasts,
wore them as makeshift jewelry, watched the sky
change color, opened the door, and breathed wishes
