when she who turns out not to be a princess

looks in a mirror, 

a confused and crestfallen face

floats behind a screen of thinning petals on twigs.  

 

no longer a child, drifting within ice-crusted glass,

not wanting to come to disappointment,

she has forgotten that 

 

petals are 

fiercely vulnerable beneath a wishing-star, ever

willing to hold hands with every piercing and plucking wind

for this safe reason: 

 

petals are 

just as beautiful when fallen to the ground,

Just As Beautiful.

 

the truth behind a woman’s ‘demure’ gaze:

she is busy admiring her unique carpet of blossoms, fit for a fairy tale–

as telling as any crown.

inside mirrors of winter remember that  

 

fallen petals are

 

dreams which never turned to bitten fruit yet are

Just As Impossibly Beautiful.

 

 

 

image of petals on ground by alexphotos

featured image by aaron burden

 

This poem was written on a hard day, to remember Wonder and an ancient Woman’s secret:

Dreams don’t need to come true; fulfilled or not, their simple and impossible existence is enough. Enough for you to be beautiful and standing in wondrous, creative pink bloom. This holds true for maiden, mother, and crone. 

Remember. The purpose of some flowers is to give way to fruit, but some flowers exist simply for their beauty. This is an equally stunning magic, is it not?

If you find yourself standing barefoot upon dreams that never came true: 

“Wise women know to laugh out loud and twirl with flying skirts upon thick-petaled carpets.”  ~the Crone