Bluebeard’s Enthralling

Me, my father’s youngest daughter,
I’m caught, but not found.
At a cross roads
in a web
in the mist of tears that do not fall

I slid off the magic carpet,
And said no shit to the genie
I gave breath to dandelions

When you left,
Everything shattered,
Splintering into many states
Helplessly, I thought we’d both reach out

And wondered whether a bridge would form to cross over
A handmade bridge, yours and mine
And sometimes I glance up startled to find I’m empty handed
And my bones ache to hold you

I came shooting out of a star
And your fire snuffed out my incandescent bulb
I burned out,
Ashes charring the forbidden door.

Fog is on the window panes
Fog and freedom,
Ocean and sunshine beyond these high walls
That seeps through skin in angles
That cuts me off from who I was.

Before you come home again
The possibilities are endless
I am the sunflower about to burst
I follow hushed whispers that take me down
to the end of a dark secluded hallway

I want you to be there while I am blooming
I want you to land on me like a bee
And spend hours talking to the sides of myself I never knew I had

Though you might sting me at any moment
Surely your rage, your viles of volcanic ash
Are not reserved for me, your only love?

And yet I cannot have you, you are not mine
Just like the land, the sky, these hands are not mine
Your hands, reaching for me,
A twisted smile upon your return

That cord between us won’t deploy a parachute
Free and falling into you
Now trembling, alone
I left all my pennies at the bottom of the wishing well

I gave my clothes to those who spin the fabric of our lives
I deposited my fears on rocks in little parcels
I’ve misplaced my warning bell
And am clinging to the present like a bat on the roof of a cave

I hold out my two empty hands
Will you have me like a tree has it’s leaves?
I’ll be that and more, a whimpered plea

You pat me on the head, tell me it will all be okay.
As you Promise a camp fire in a parking lot
Would you kill to have me
There beneath the beating of your heart?

The magic key, it bleeds for me
Trying to speak, trying to share,
Your hands encircling my neck
Cutting off my air
To silence she who thought to dare.

The magic key still bleeds for me
My sisters braid my hair
Weaving the tale of love belied
The siren’s sorrowful snare
And the fate of those who learn too late
Those women who would dare

Listen to the voice within
For all that isn’t there
Summon all who can defend
The core of who you are.

The lights I thought had surely gone
I had a single spare
Be young, be carefree, be yourself
But most of all: beware.

For an illustrated version of the story of Bluebeard, click here:
http://childhoodreading.com/?p=20

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