Poetry::: The Witch in Fairy Tales

The Witch in Fairy Tales

Jona Branzuela Bering





























My eyes, you said, two-lipped scissors almost
Kissing each other. With a nose, a hawk’s beaks.
A chin, a blind curve. My mouth spit thorns, vines,
And not rose petals and melodies.

Your prince dashed with his sword, or words,
Partly, an Andersen’s prince. Exactly the one
You expected to rescue you from my dirty fingers,
Full of stains from everyday works—making potions,

Spells not just for you but for myself too. To make me
Live up with my character. For your story to continue.
For you to be rescued. For you to have a happily-
ever-after. For you to be loved by everybody.

Since without me, you’ll not be Snow White, or Sleeping Beauty.
You’ll be just another ordinary girl, a secondary character
In a story book, gathering dust in a remote corner
of a bookstore, silent, and then, bargained, and yet in the end,

unsold.