Fairy-tale Treasures

By Joy Andersen

A lounging slope of elegant limbs, 
Akimbo knees and knowing grin,
Hair braided long from purple skin,
Unblinking ears and eyes that sing.

Smooth lengthened fingers flick with grace,
Swooping loops of air through space,
Past sculptures, art and gold bookcase,
Pulling doors at the finger’s pace.

Quick tumbling in, a pile of curls,
A desired dance, a desired girl,
A face so pale, with eyes like pearls,
A soul upset, dark angry swirls.

A promise to pay for help, she implores,
Dark purple eyes swerve along her flaws, 
Along her legs and along her jaw,
At her fingertips, his eyes turn sure.

Unspooling limbs, he stands his height,
His fourteen eyes all gleeful bright,
Excitement brings the flames alight,
She leaves with warnings of late that night.

Now in the dark with none awake,
The girl grows thin, grows warm, grows opaque,
Till free from watch, from the grip of snakes,
She leaves home bold to dance daybreak.

To see, she sails the world and all,
To smile without a suitor’s call,
To watch and learn of how kings rule,
How love and people rise and fall.

She needs no one, and none do see,
The girl amongst them roaming free,
Not even once, the girl does plea,
Instead, she blooms, a strong oak tree.

As time flows passed, her hair grows long,
Thick curls grow on and on and on,
And with no sight, but fingers strong,
She grips scissors and snips along. 

In a purple house, in a purple box,
Sit old blank eyes and straight blond locks,
And next to it all, on an old man’s socks
Lay ten fingertips as dead as rocks.

Joy is a graduate linguistics nerd and messy creative living in Cambridge, UK. At the moment, she’s probably rereading classic fiction, reediting prattle into poetry, or refilling her pot of tea. Her casual musings can be found on twitter at @jyndrsn.