Rose Red and Snow White<\/p>\n
Skin as white as Virgin snow. “Rose Red and Snow White” is reprinted from The Journal of Mythic Arts.\u00a0<\/em>Copyright \u00a9 2013 by Kim Antieau<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Kim Antieau<\/a> is the author of many short stories, poems, essays, and novels. Her most recent books<\/a> are The Monster’s Daughter, Ruby’s Imagine, <\/em>and Under the Tucson Moon,<\/em> all published by Green Snake Publishing.<\/a> She lives with her husband, writer Mario Milosevic, in the Columbia River Gorge.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Rose Red and Snow White Skin as white as Virgin snow. Ice crystals grown from dust motes, Specks of Earth thrown skyward: Snow White Lips as red as pricked blood, first blood, Unfolding like the Virgin Rose, Whole in and … Continue reading
\nIce crystals grown from dust motes,
\nSpecks of Earth thrown skyward:
\nSnow White<\/em>
\nLips as red as pricked blood, first blood,
\nUnfolding like the Virgin Rose,
\nWhole in and of herself:
\nRose Red<\/em>
\nColors of the Goddess,
\nClues this tale is more than it seems.
\nAren\u2019t they all?<\/em>
\nWhen Le B\u00eate knocks on their door
\nMid-winter, matted ice and snow giving him
\nA Rasti look, the twin goddesses invite
\nThe Wild in,
\nServe him tea and comb his fur.
\nNo sign of gold at first blush.<\/em>
\nThen what? Did they watch Jack Frost
\nBreathe on their windows and listen to
\nIce crack into wintry art?
\nTheir version of cable.<\/em>
\nToday, would they gulp beer, eat chips,
\nAnd watch television, the three of them?
\nWould Le B\u00eate complain about the
\nCommercialization of all things sacred
\nAs he clutched the remote?
\n\u201cLet\u2019s live off the grid,\u201d he\u2019d murmur
\nWhile Snow White and Rose Red painted
\nTheir fingernails black as pitch and their lips
\nRed as a whore\u2019s candied tongue.
\nGoth or harlot?<\/em>
\nOr, perhaps before the Bear enters their domain
\nThe sisters are hippie-girls, wandering, modern-like,
\nLooking for some thing.<\/em> Hitching rides.
\nLiving off the land. Eating huckleberries plucked
\nFrom their core, the juice staining their lips and teeth
\nDeep purple. Watching the bloody salmon leap,
\nThey wonder why their mouths water, wonder
\nWhat it is they have lost.
\nWhy does it ache so much?<\/em>
\nSo when a man in gold knocks on their door
\nMid-winter, they pull him inside, shining him on.
\nUntil they spot the fur beneath the gold.
\nLe B\u00eate!<\/em>
\nThey speak in tongues as they
\nRip the clothes from him.
\nHe is only a symbol, after all.<\/em>
\nThe sisters bury their faces in his fur.
\nWhen they look down at their own bodies,
\nThey see they have grown Grizzly claws.
\nThey laugh and embrace each other.
\nThe man, speechless, tries to piece his
\nGold suit back together. Alone
\nIn the empty cottage, he closes the door.
\nOutside, the night is wild with beasts.<\/em><\/p>\n