The Voice Issue 29: May/June 2017 - Page 38

38

Rumpelstiltskin

This morning

the sky was a blank canvas

and my hair froze

into icicles—no

into spindles and tiny sticks

of frost and fiber

that rustled when I ran

stiff like the straw

that could have been gold

if only I had sacrificed

what I treasured most:

the mountains and the trees

the crunch of grass and snow

the cold that tickled my face

and the beauty

that brought a smile

to my eyes.

- Worlds.Within.Words, East Middlebury, VT

Madi Cohen, Jericho, VT