The Handless Maiden In Verse - Part 10
Monthly poems serializing a classic tale in verse…FINALE!
Dear friends,
Thank you so much for stepping into this little corner of the poetry world. :)
Welcome to the 10th 🍂 AND FINAL 🍂 installment of The Handless Maiden in Verse! If you missed Parts 1-9, not to worry! They’re linked here (preceding parts are embedded in Part 9 below):
Please comment below what fairytale or folktale you’d like to read next! I’m leaning towards “The Little Mermaid,” but I’m open to suggestions.
I hope you enjoy. :)
Take good care & speak soon. 🌱
Gratefully,
Mik
The Handless Maiden - Part 10
Kneeling at the rock edge of the fireplace, the bearded man with tough hands smothered smoke signal with stone and sky. Retha laced Lennon’s fingers in hers as they followed the man, just moments later, down a dark lane into denser woods. It wasn’t as long as it seemed before another cottage appeared in a clearing, cleverly concealed behind a well-harvested fall garden. The bearded man paused, offering first entry between two apple-pregnant trees. Without looking through the gap, Adam and Ella stumbled backward. Retha and Lennon peered between the gates, curtained by cold mist and fog. And there, not far beyond, was the silhouette of a woman turning the handle of a well pulley. Lennon squeezed Retha’s hand, and they disappeared into the veil of cool smoke, together, passing through its membrane. They approached the woman, hoping she’d know something. “Excuse us—” “Oh!” The woman startled, a full bucket now moving from hands to air, soaking all three bodies. Lennon and Retha laughed gently, wiping water from their eyes until a hand settled on each of their weathered cheeks, smoothing the drip-trails. Their hands found Eva’s as she felt their faces, thick hair, thin arms. She shifted to take her hands back, to look, but Retha and Lennon held on. Eva shook her head, beaming, “Somehow, I already knew. Somehow, I waited all these years to feel what I remembered.” As love is of one in its truest form, Lennon and Retha mirrored each other, tracing the grain of Eva’s wood-skin hands, breathing her in as if she were a tree filled with oxygen, and their grief could feed her love with every exhale. The three lovers, like bursting fruit, wove together with kisses, embraces, touch. And Eva knew they hoped to know how, but all she could share was that she’d believed in all she couldn’t see. And of course, there was someone for them to meet. A child’s eyes, watching from behind the well, had hidden from the reunion. Lennon and Retha fell to their knees, offered their tear-soaked hands and sleeves— the only way, as we now know, to keep clean— and the dear child ran to them. Eva glanced behind everyone, curious without hope, but perhaps with faith that two others might show some day. Behind the fog, Adam and Ella stood with the bearded man, unsure, mostly of their welcome. How cold the mist felt. Unfamiliar. They looked again to the bearded man, who had disappeared. A guide not needed; the decision hung. Adam offered his hand, Ella took it, and together they stepped through, colliding, hard, with someone new. The smoky cold froze around them as the temperature fell, well below zero. In such a sublayer of the world, the colours paled, and it was difficult to see beyond the stone-tinted shadows. Ella and Adam clasped black-gloved hands—hands gloved for decades. “Would you take them off?” A woman asked through the chilled haze. Her voice was sharp. “They’re silver and unmalleable. With them we cannot feel anything—not anymore. The cold could crack them.” “Who did this to you?” "To ourselves, you might mean, but someone we believed after we’d seen his power. A man who taught us that only knotted wounds bear fruit. We were so young. We accepted. We didn’t question. And worst of all, later, we inflicted fate.” “And where is she?” The woman asked, firmly, as if bracing for the response. Ella and Adam looked at each other, removed their gloves, and into the rich cold, reached for the voice. Cracks echoed off the airborne ice crystals, and four handless wrists met Eva’s chest. “She’s always been—” “Right here.” They answered. Eva grasped their forearms and began to walk backward. “Would you help us heal as you have?” They whispered, breaking through the veil, back onto the trail. Eva smiled, cautiously. “How did you know it was me?” “Because you believed it was us,” they replied. Eva nodded. Smiled. There was much to repair, as in pairing, once again. To follow, of course, there was ample dance, song, food, drink, and don’t worry— mischief, too—to leave us full, warm, drowsy. Everyone fell in love with someone, perhaps themselves, and as usual, something was left unexplained, like how such a cold could take shape on a warm autumn day. Nobody recognized this test. But then again, this forest is full of surprises and wisdom well beyond us. How, then, do I know this story from so long ago? Well, we tend to live the stories of our ancestors in one way or another, don’t we? The End (begins again, with you)...
Before You Go…
Some poems I’ve loved lately:
Water (the whole book—I can’t choose!) by Rumi, translated by Haleh Liza Gafori
On Kindness by Aracelis Girmay
The Drop Off by Molly Twomey
Poem for the Black Bird by Alina Stefanescu
The Luna Moth Has No Mouth by Rigoberto González
Ordinary Sugar by Amanda Gunn
Helen of Troy Catalogues Her Pregnancy Cravings by Maria Zoccola
Miss you. Would like to take a walk with you. by Gaby Calvocoressi
Language Studies: ‘Ahooyawpe’ / From the Air by Casandra López
✩ My album is also here & the lyric booklet is available for order in Canada or the USA! ✩
