Swan Prince Legend
Swan
emerged, not goose feathered down
like
the rest. She had molasses eyes, tangerine nostrils,
golden
webbed feet and a burned crest of crimson wings.
The
fire couldn’t melt her gilded quills or the cape.
Sacred
song, why do you speak noisily for so long?
Billowing
the breeze, laughing in the record,
creeping
the stairs and chimney and the pond?
“Someday
your prince will come.”
Periwinkle
Lake on eroding Lamp Light Lane,
here
is a name, flickering in the dark,
splashing
on and off. The Swan Prince was dipping whispers,
while
washing off his ephemeral existence or so she thought.
But
the legend echoes on, hidden in the hum where
the larks
on tree limb eyes, watch synchronous,
the noble
waders.
But
she could see nothing on the surface,
swimmingly
through molecules of sea bath
tears.
Purple, crimson, molasses and tangerine
piled
against the slope of running water. She
appeared
strong, sucking in air and puffing up,
but
it was really only soft sweet baby breathe
and
no one could tell she was nervous.
Liquid
pellets fell off her flitted feathers,
rolling
down the spackled bank,
like
flakes of dandruff from the pearls.
She
gathered some, sewing in between the
seams
of down- to make a coat. The
weeping
willows lost their mourning vines
when she
left the nom de plume, but she didn’t
think
it mattered.
Kneeling
in her knitted nest,
she
tried to hide her bent webbed feet
tucked
inward. The stillness was crisp while
awaiting
Mother Goose, for a new version of
the
fairytale. Then haughtily she flew in,
snorting
wild, double-breasted and hissing,
“You
are overdone, Swan. It’s too late.”
Night
breezes whip and chasten
honking
hens, funneling the swan off
the branches,
past the lane, tumbling and
splashing.
She was left to drown, the
sopping
mess with no oil in her lamp tonight.
Trees
turned up noses at her gilded wings,
molasses
eyes and tangerine beak with trumpets,
announcing
through the darkness,
“He’s
come, The Swan Prince, has come.”
Alas,
she could not join in the song. A cooked goose.
Faded
and gone, for hours now.
It’s
a bust.
Extra Extra read all about it...
Truly I wrote and sent this to my son when he was having a hard time. I hope it cheered him up that day. What is more important is that this year Christian and I experienced a real miracle. We prayed every day for his safety here in Minnesota and it happened. There is more to come on thisexperience on another blog post, as I get his commentary on how he felt, when he went through something hard. I love you Christian!! You are so brave and courageous. You deserve a bright and happy future here in Minnesota and all the blessings in store for you!!!You are so loved. :0)
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