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A Snow Queen Tale
Part 1: FORE SIBERIAN FATE silk wings wet - angel on the lake. starlight glitter separates from the golden wheat. her docile hair, prophecy of ice. winter pink, pinched cheeks. ice skate scrapes - flecks of flakes. the snow queen before her relentless reign, a pretty thing. her smile warms the water, her eyes true glacier blue. Part 2: APOCALYPSE glacier blue eyes thunder, icy waves surprise the tow. it goes under… homemade flakes, bitter bite of solid shards, assails the wicked night. it’s her laugh that shackles the wind, splitting islands, toppling icebergs. her marionette claws control the climate. her blades precisely suffer the ice. mercurial avalanche. thermometer drops. children burrow under blankets. atmospheric fear. dry lines, etched into the snow-white canvas. Part 3: COLD SHOULDERS entrenched in idiopathic insanity a steadfast echo ‘he lied...he lied’ when she could cry no longer her tears crystallized, her iceberg eyes - epic blue. friends’ cold shoulders like disembodied shrugs. misery she cannot shake. one thing she managed to stand over mountain peaks graceful with siberian tiger teeth, shoulders perfectly rounded. her slight figure wrapped in majestic blue - the raw color of her bondage. curiosity of wool-white hair. she often dallied with it’s softness, in the mirror. it could fall to her feet in umbrage, or be whipped up blizzard-like - placated as a braided crown. ‘the fool - he hides!’ she tortures any reminder of his kind eyes, warm smile, kissable lips. Part 4: NO ONE KNOWS she bleeds deep inside - a cavern of stalagmites. her warm heart plunges into an echoing abyss. ‘no one knows…’ sharing would be death. and so she’s buried that bloodied embryo, in the gallows grip of fate. he’d promised her silver, gold, diamonds and pearls. he’d promised her forever. she sought his child. she’d only sire sorrow. thus fate would kick her to the ground. he didn’t know his seed lay in her soil. a fist of fury would pummel all dreams. there’d be icy jewels where eyes pretend. her clairvoyant blues burn for her unborn son. her innocence lost in her north pole irises. she’d not even pause to release him from the grave. evermore, she’d cradle, the doom in her womb. she live for him. the queen vowed to find the absentee father. she’d make him pay, then she’d shatter. spine trembles as the wind howls with increasing fury... Part 5: DESPERATION a tomb buried under snow. the villagers wear eskimo overcoats. unaware that despair drives them ever colder... stern snow whips at lashes and outstretched noses. no longer playful little snowflakes. the tongue cannot endure the sting of ice. knees tremble through compacted snow. shovels a commodity – crippled wooden handles splinter and break. those near the equator also shiver and shake. Their tormented orb hangs precariously in the darkened sky, as the villagers wonder out loud, “why?!” (the snow queen has seasonal rests. she collapses upon her slab of stone. her mind in requiem - cold and comatose.) villagers furiously plant, chop, eat everything green. winter has no habit. it comes and goes with caprice. committee selected to search out answers “when and where did this insanity start?” “is there a who or a why?” they fret not over words, for emotion has become their friend. Part 6: SNOWMEN AT ARMS contact made, with each icicle tap on a man’s shoulder. just in case of age or disguise, she examines the face, the eyes, the expressions of love and hate. she shakes the women, wraps serpentine around their waists, jealous of their size, their youth, virginity. each child she doth despise. her own would be greater, more talented, more handsome. in the winter’s mind these ideas greedily sold, like the shape of a perfect flake. snowmen armed with icicle spears ready to go to war. the village that lends itself to this selfish man will pay. its walkway would become snow-covered gravestones. the one thing that makes her frozen lips curl upwards - the thought of death. her heart of stone does not beat. it bears down like an athlete’s barbell sitting upon her chest. she seems wretched and regal atop her empty sleigh. like an eagle perched, ready to swoop down upon its prey. Part 7: THE RECKONING he laughed when she found him, “snow looks good on you,” humor bit her in the jaw. he had no remorse for his sins “why you were just a pitiful lass.” “look at you now, much lower class.” he grinned, serpentine smug. and she saw her coldness reflected in his eyes. ‘what had she become? his queen?’ an ice queen, indeed! the child she lost, forever ago, bled onto the death pallet of snow. her inner ego humbled. not before him! but before mankind... she recognized the epitome of evil and once again, saw her own shards in his eyes. she didn’t blink, just stared until he broke, splinters from his icy mirror of glass. a minute ember felt in her unbeating heart: ‘they could never forgive me’ ‘winter will fade away’ ‘the best i can bless them with is spring’ ‘they will wonder where i’ve gone, but should not spend one second on that thought’ ‘i shall leave reminders in the stars, in the trees, in hidden caves, not of myself, but reminders of how to love.’ ‘that’s the best i can do, not for me...forget me!’ and winter turned into spring, with lovely things, until the people needed autumn and snow. cookie cutter shapes of hearts, diamonds, and lucky clovers in blue, orange, yellow, red leaves. and love could be smelt again in honeysuckle, roses, lilacs, sweets, and fresh-baked bread. in caves they’d find no more war. just joy and happiness of families holding hands. filling their hearts with pregnant joy, turning them away from jealousy and hate. a time so great...and somehow the snow queen’s heart beats from far away, far below, forgotten but unfrozen, still. The End
Copyright © 2024 Kim Rodrigues. All Rights Reserved

Book: Shattered Sighs