momebie: (Architects Derek/Amelia Run)
[personal profile] momebie
Well, I say vote. Mainly I asked twitter, so blame them.

The prompt for today's PAD challenge was 'Timeless/Timely'. I've been on this queer fairy tale bit lately, so of course my head went to Sleeping Beauty. Specifically to Maleficent, which I still have a lot of feelings about. (Some of those are wrapped up in the way we tailor our myths to our time and some of them are wrapped up in ANGELINA, HOW ARE YOU SO PERFECT?) For the record, I do not think the relationship between Maleficent and Aurora in the movie was romantic or should be. I like that the movie spat in the face of our dominant notion that romantic relationships at all cost are the most important ones. But you know, I'm also the one writing this poem so, wooo, ladies loving ladies in myth and legend!

It's the longest one yet, so I've put it behind a cut. Also, I've recorded myself reading it, because why the hell not. I was reading it over and over as I wrote it anyway. (Comments welcome as always on either my poor writing or poor reading skills. Weee!) So, I present to you, however you want it:

Timeless

Your wildest dreams come in the deepest winter,
snow smothering red leaves covering
pink and white petals crushing
browning grass into black dirt,
the way it’s seeped into your skin,
your heart, and your mind.
The roar of winter’s wind against the tower walls
becomes the roar of a beast in the wings of your theater.
The flush of your skin,
as blood fights to keep moving
turning into fire from a twisted mouth, fanged
with thorns, large enough to swallow you
if you would just stay still.

Running through the molasses
of your memory you realize
he’s too old for you.
Too new to your life. As he presses
his lips to yours with no happy result
your mind works out the riddle
of your easily turned head
and your reluctant heart.

Spring comes again and so does he,
never giving up. It’s what the men who own you
want for you, a peace brokered in your womb.
You dream of gentle showers
on fields of restless daisies and
you commiserate with them. You too want
to move on and reclaim the time
that has been stolen from you.
You rewrite your childhood in the clouds.
New winds, only whistling now against warming cheeks,
pull up the roots of everything trapped around you
but you.

Summer finds rich black soil back in control
and you dream of her with her hands in the dirt
--the hands that taught you
how to build the world you wanted to live in,
the hands that taught you
how to hold on to the things you wanted to love--
tilling the soil with nails of nightmare red,
mirroring the anger that bursts from your lips.
Trees cower and shake around the both of you,
but this time it’s you with the power
as you try to dampen the quake of your heart.
Your heart that was frozen, but is thawing,
finally. Even down in your sleep
you can feel it.

In fall the leaves crackle like fire,
you can feel the dragon coming again,
but instead of thorns it’s made of soft leather,
wrapping its wings around you. Instead
of hot breath on your throat
there is wetness at your breast,
rains coming harder than they had in the spring.
You pick a late-blooming cornflower
the color of the midday sky and look to the north
to see her coming over the hill.

Your breath catches.
You reach out in accusation,
it’s some other enchantment not to trust.
But this time her eyes are flooded with fear
instead of remorse and she runs,
because she has no wings, runs,
the space stretches away and you cling
to the lifting darkness
because all you want is to stay.
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