The Three Spinners
On her thighs, tall yellow grain shrieks her name.
She must spin, or learn to spin. She awaits
a book: How to Spin Gold. It is too late
for all that though. The miller’s daughter’s shame
unveiled if not for these three retched dames.
One fat thumbed, one flat footed, one’s lip eight
centimeters thick. They knocked on the gate,
offered special skills, grain to spun gold, came,
presumably, to rescue her.
But we
underestimate the quiet ones, blink
away wallflowers. Each woman drags
their dreams of a prince behind them in tea
bags. Dreams drip out, color their past loves, think
how does it pay to be an ugly hag?
©Shannon Horlor
On her thighs, tall yellow grain shrieks her name.
She must spin, or learn to spin. She awaits
a book: How to Spin Gold. It is too late
for all that though. The miller’s daughter’s shame
unveiled if not for these three retched dames.
One fat thumbed, one flat footed, one’s lip eight
centimeters thick. They knocked on the gate,
offered special skills, grain to spun gold, came,
presumably, to rescue her.
But we
underestimate the quiet ones, blink
away wallflowers. Each woman drags
their dreams of a prince behind them in tea
bags. Dreams drip out, color their past loves, think
how does it pay to be an ugly hag?
©Shannon Horlor
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