Boys and Girls Together
Boys don't want to be princes.
Boys want to be shepherds who slay dragons,
maybe someone gives you half a kingdom and a princess,
but that's just what comes of being a shepherd boy
and slaying a dragon. Or a giant. And you don't really
even have to be a shepherd. Just not a prince.
In stories, even princes don't want to be princes,
disguising themselves as beggars or as shepherd boys,
leaving the kingdom for another kingdom,
princehood only of use once the ogre's dead, the tasks are done,
and the reluctant king, her father, needing to be convinced.
Boys do not dream of princesses who will come for them.
Boys would prefer not to be princes,
and many boys would happily kiss the village girls,
out on the sheep-moors, of an evening,
over the princess, if she didn't come with the territory.
Princesses sometimes disguise themselves as well,
to escape the kings' advances, make themselves ugly,
soot and cinders and donkey girls,
with only their dead mothers' ghosts to aid them,
a voice from a dried tree or from a pumpkin patch.
And then they undisguise, when their time is upon them,
gleam and shine in all their finery. Being princesses.
Girls are secretly princesses.
None of them know that one day, in their turn,
Boys and girls will find themselves become bad kings
or wicked stepmothers,
aged woodcutters, ancient shepherds, mad crones and wise-women,
to stand in shadows, see with cunning eyes:
The girl, still waiting calmly for her prince.
The boy, lost in the night, out on the moors.
-- Neil Gaiman
Fading
This blanket I lay wrapped in smells like you.
Its scent mingles with that of the intense cold,
stinging my nostrils with chills of realization.
I had once before named your child in my heart.
The future smiled at me through your words
and glimmered in my eyes.
While only the stars flash tonight
I find myself alone with the memories.
Laying, with my back across the frozen dirt
I clutch the blanket tighter
and press my nose into the fabric.
Warming my breath,
calming my heart,
viewing the slivered moon.
I pray for the smell to fade as I inhale deeply.
This is where I’ll stay until my own scent embeds itself once more
and I forget entirely
what reminds me of you.
--Johanna Bystrom
About Me
- tomirose
- I'm a wife of a wonderful man, mom to three awesome children. I like to laugh, encourage, and I would love to write. I think community is a wonderful thing, and I'd like people to be less cynical about church, not THE church, but the institution that we call the church. I think soul patches, piercings and tattoos are kinda cool; attitudes are not. Sometimes I lie in bed and think about weird things.. like why I like the taste of bubblemint gum, but despise the taste of our youngest son's bubblemint flavored toothpaste, or if our older children have already met their future spouses, how amazing it is that I've been married to the same man for thirty-two years, and why dryer lint looks the way it does. I hate having cold feet, being too hot, and stubbing my pinkie toe. I like to read pretty much anything but angsty poetry, well no I lied..not about the angsty poetry, but I don't much like to read biographies either. Laundry is the bane of my existence, along with cleaning out the refrigerator, and just plain cleaning.
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