The edges crackle
as her fingers enclose
the pool of glitter.
Her eyes glide around
the surface trying to
catch the shapes
dancing, drifting like
shimmering orbs
they shift in the
shadows along the
rim. She lifts her fingers
like cobwebs crawling
up the metallic spine.
She paws at her reflection.
Her forefinger dances
over the surface
following the trickster
housed under the
shards of ice.
Shattering–
her reflection turns
the shade of midnight.
She sees another
glistening memory try
to pick the poison apple
searching the surface to
see the woman she has
become and the little
girl swallowed inside.
The apple rolls down
the hill caught by
tufts of grass that
poke and prick.
The hand sprawled against
her fair face twitches;
not giving up,
the blood stains
her cheeks.
Cinders start to
tickle the surface
giving way to a
smokey thread weaving
through the door.
Her blood begins to
twist and turn into
liquid, burning, coursing
through her veins.
She reaches against
her reflection;
a shallow scream
bounces off the
edges and ensnares
the room tearing
at her clothes.
A little girl with
glass for eyes
appears on the surface.
She wears a crown
made of dried thistle,
a wisp of lavender,
baby’s breath,
and the protruding
olive branch
that tears into her
flames for hair.
She reaches out to the woman
and caresses her cheek.
Soon her eyes are
merely lakes
reflecting the blue
sky and tiny daffodils
on the edge of
the brook, under the
willow tree.
Nicol Gowar is an English teacher in the tiny town of Makhanda. She has a BA from Rhodes University. She is an avid reader and enjoys spinning her thoughts into poetry magic.