perhappened mag
issue 6: FAIRYTALE
the prince experiences
a different rising action
ELISE TRIPLETT
Her evil stepmother twists blackberry thorns
into your eyes—
Prince,
blink away plasma and purple seeds
as she braids briar around your arms.
Do you know that your tears
are painting your cheeks indigo?
Lover,
try not to think of love
still trapped in that tower
knowing what the stained tips
of mother-fingers
thread through her shorn hair means.
She is gone now.
She’s been gone for a long time.
Prince,
Is that moss growing over your calves?
Have you felt the asters creep into your palms?
Does the mulberry ripen as snakeroot twists in your hair?
Has your mind grown foggy as cottonwood?
The briar doesn’t even sting anymore, does it? See
if you move your arms—yes—notice how the thicket
shifts? The vines have slid into your skin.
The thorns grow out of you now.
After unknown time of leaf-rustle and bird-call
you hear human-song.
You rise
and the meadow you’ve become rises with you.
into your eyes—
Prince,
blink away plasma and purple seeds
as she braids briar around your arms.
Do you know that your tears
are painting your cheeks indigo?
Lover,
try not to think of love
still trapped in that tower
knowing what the stained tips
of mother-fingers
thread through her shorn hair means.
She is gone now.
She’s been gone for a long time.
Prince,
Is that moss growing over your calves?
Have you felt the asters creep into your palms?
Does the mulberry ripen as snakeroot twists in your hair?
Has your mind grown foggy as cottonwood?
The briar doesn’t even sting anymore, does it? See
if you move your arms—yes—notice how the thicket
shifts? The vines have slid into your skin.
The thorns grow out of you now.
After unknown time of leaf-rustle and bird-call
you hear human-song.
You rise
and the meadow you’ve become rises with you.
Elise Triplett is a writer from Dayton, Ohio. They have been published in Black Bough Poetry, Okay Donkey, and Taco Bell Quarterly. They can be found on Twitter @TriplettElise and elsewhere, probably.