Snow White, Rose Red
Roses were falling, falling
like children, from the sky
all night.  Early next morning
my sister gathered up petals,
with a thorn for a needle
sewed them together,
all the white petals.
These were her stories.
These were her warnings.
*  *  *

Give me three words
said the voice in the dark.
I chose maze, escape and thread.
She told the tale of the Minotaur.
I recognised his tread.
She asked for more:  pebbles and crumbs
and moon.  Two lost children.
They must find shelter soon.
The witch is kind.  Bakes a cake.
A homemade gingerbread tomb.
*  *  *

She brings red roses from her garden
as I’m about to leave.  We both know
this is the last time.  I say, her roses
are her stories. She closes
her eyes, says Give me three words.
I give her father, mother, brother.
She gives me roses.
Diana Brodie

If you have any comments on this poem, Diana Brodie would be pleased to hear them.

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