6.16 / December 2011

In Fairytales

[wpaudio url=”/audio/6_16/Torzs.mp3″ text=”listen to this poem” dl=”0″]

In fairy tales, women seldom look
behind the unlocked doors, preferring to open onto secrets

which after all are women’s territory.
Folded away with the sheets, washed
out of the sheets, or left to stain. Bluebeard
had many rooms we never saw, such as the dining room.

The servant’s quarters.

A cloud of dust!

Ah sister it is
but a flock of sheep.

From the highest window,
any slight disturbance of the land
may signify the hooved approach of men
intent on rescue. To reach a tower
you must first go up a flight
of stairs, and maybe we mistake the effort
for a promise: if we render ourselves
breathless, and sweat,

then naturally will come the cool-down.
As an answer. As a circlet. As a chamber

with the bodies of the girls who came
before. Remember dressing dolls?
We fit their slender arms
through the holes of their sleeves.

We cut off all their hair,
and when it didn’t start to grow again
we cried. They were not human. We made them
ugly in the image of ourselves.


Emma Törzs lives in Missoula, Montana, and is an MFA candidate in Fiction at the University there. Her work has been published or is forthcoming in journals such as elimae, Monkeybicycle, Fringe Magazine, and the Cincinnati Review.
6.16 / December 2011

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