A Classic Retelling

And when

she stood before it, grand, majestic, like a story told, and open just a sliver, she peaked.

Curious.

Her boot,

fashioned and perfect fit, rested against it, tapped, then wedged, then acted without foot, and leaned against it, pretending invitation.

Fictitious.

Entering now

where permission not lay, the locks-headed girl called in whisper, Is anyone home?

Quiet.

Beginning inspection

of table adorned in linen, white, china, gold trimmed, etched crystal, candlesticks, silver, she spied berries and took it as summons.

Scrumptious!

Sent from Heaven

wafting, steaming, hovering, three kettles. With raise of each cap and dip of golden spoon, she dreamed

then tasted.

Delicious.

Too hot

was the first pot with girth that matched her craving, while the second, just slightly smaller, was too cold.

But the tiny pot, fired with whimsy, held promise.

Perfect.

Appetites satisfied

invite contemplation and to her delight, Locks found that her answer was held in cushions, fastened, puckered, brocade, and each piece with its ornament stood in grand fashion.

Enchanting.

The King’s chair

grand in stature revealed imposture. It was too hard. The Queen’s chair, however, more fitting her style,

implored to conceal her. It was too soft. But one chair, the petite, whispered dew-spot petals and morning spring…Until it broke.

Displeasure.

Collecting her pride,

but ready to leave not, interest found her atop a spiral. Still knowing her crime, but blaming those who failed to latch,she explored nevertheless.

Arrogance.

She entered

a chamber of sleep, which held in it, beds: one large, knotty pine, one medium, with canopy, and one small,

embossed and engraved.

Opulence.

The largest

ruffled in twill and still telling story, was so giant she almost not dare.

It was too hard.

Displeasure.

The second,

a cot in ribbon and fluff, proved dangerous. It was too soft.

Distress.

But the cradle,

delicate, cordial and fitted to her stature,

embraced her and soon she fell into sleep.

Peace.

Like dreams

that make wonder Locks slipped from reality, and imagined faint voices were those of servants to report for duty.

Delusion.

And when the Bears’ three,

spied signs of intrusion, doors open, dishes washed, chairs broken, they crept upstairs where they found

quilts tussled, pillows tossed, and the golden locks girl asleep.

Shock.

Locks

still in dream stirred, and yet in knowing envisioned a mutinous set by those whose purpose was to wait upon her.

Fantasy.

But like a sweet dream

that twists into nightmare, hers grew into reality. And now with yawn and stretch and circle of wrists her eyes, cerulean, revealed themselves to those that crouched around her.

Fear.

And the Bears’

those three, insulted by intrusion, lay bare their teeth, quiver of lips, and wide stone eyes.

Horror.

Claws,

gigantic, huge, and spongy, nudged toward her, nearing her condition with implication of harm.

Warning.

And then Locks

in subconscious action, leapt from broken slumber not even feeling the clutch of curls pulled from her head.

Fortunate.

With sunsets behind her,

and many moons ahead, she stood before it grand, majestic, like a story told, open just a sliver, and she knocked.

Contrition…