even in my youth, i did not dream of evil.

i could not fathom devils or demons
endlessly circling around a fiery pit -
painting their whispery words onto the pages
of other children's fairytales.

before i shut my weary eyes and closed the pages
of yet another gold gilted storybook, i thought to myself,

"i cannot imagine evil" -

not one dragon's white hot flames;
scorching the stone foundation of a dark tower
where a porcelain princess patiently awaits the end of a solitary life -
braiding and unbraiding golden hair until her fingers bleed.

"i cannot imagine evil" -

not one prince's frustration as
soft lips and slender hands are torn from him
and all that is left of his newfound beloved
is a sparkling slipper carressing the castle stairs
while the twelfth boom of a clock still lingers in the evening air.

no, i did not dream of evil in the twilight before sleep.

i dreamt of a delicately aging queen,
sick with worry when her dear stepdaughter did not return
from the twisted woods before the rising of a silvery moon.

i dreamt of her graceful arms outstretched for a gentle embrace
as the huntsman and the raven haired girl enter the glass hall,
hand-in-hand,

a basket of innocent ruby apples
swinging in time between them.