NaPoWrimo Day 29

 The gifted

They said that 'gifted' was not another name for cursed -

in Perrault’s tale, the fairies bless, like Disney-

I prefer Grimm and the wise women,

one mother spurned, carrying her mouthful of spite,

spitting it at the foot of the bed

where my mother lay.

And yes, Grandmother cursed me,

yellow fairy of the hair and fingertips,

leopardskinned and redmouthed,

smoking, likely, as she recited litanies,

long lost to family lore, dialect obscure-

be careful who you invite to your feast;

it’s not as if I blame much, but there's this-

the years might be much easier without these gifts,

clever and glittering as they are, and handed down,

and if I made a list; my moods, my bones,

my shivers, the ache in everything, the nag

that finding magic brings,

years of spinning in a dusty room,

garnet on my finger,

like a bead of blood,

where the lover kneels quietly by the bed,

so that the act of summoning is enough,

and gifted is a word for what we lost.