On a bit of a mission within a mission today. The next five sestinas are going to be different voices from the snow-white story. Today, the wicked queen.
Black hair, Red lips and skin as white as snow.
Pretentious little goth: I hate her guts!
She’s not all that: her nose is far too small.
She’s pretty, though. I look into the mirror
When it tells me I’m not the best, my blood
Starts boiling till I feel I want to die
But no, she is the one who ought to die
She must be sickly with her skin like snow
Just like her mum. You can rely on blood
To tell. I’d like to rip her guts
Out with my hands, but deep within the mirror
A voice is whispering “she’s still so small
No threat to you while she is still so small
And maybe she won’t need your help to die”
And though I tend to listen to my mirror
I want to spill her blood upon the snow
And run my hands through still pulsating guts!
But really it’s important that her blood
Is not seen on my hands, for royal blood
Should not be touched with scandal. It’s a small
But messy job. Remove her heart and guts
And bring them here. And if you want to die
As well, then breathe a word. Silent as snow
You must remain. I’ll watch you from my mirror.
I gaze at my reflection in the mirror.
The perfect symmetry, the noble blood.
And think about her, dying in the snow
Your axe so heavy, her so frail and small.
And in my mind I watch her bleed and die.
Soon you will come, returning with her guts.
At last I see my pretty rival’s guts!
I hold them up and show them to my mirror.
Who’s pretty now? The bitch deserved to die.
I roast her heart with apples, till the blood
Runs clear. It tastes a lot like pork. A small
Doubt strikes me: did you kill her in the snow?
She did not die, and these are not her guts.
Out in the snow, she’s fleeing from my mirror
I’ll have her blood. She’s tender, still, and small…
Tom Juniper Poetry 