Dear diary,
last week, I made a cow
for the queen, wooden,
hollow, so she could meet the white bull
in the corral, at midnight. Dear
diary, it’s been nine months. She’s asked me to turn
the splintered shell into a crib.
I recarved it, a cradle for the large
shape under her dress. Dear diary,
two years since I made the cradle,
the king has ordered I use it
to construct a sign. The Labyrinth, he said,
an enormous maze, at the center a little,
hungry toddler with flat teeth, one who looks
at us sideways.
Dear diary, seven years since
the king locked my secrets in the tower.
My son is growing
taller. It’s time. The window is large
and our wings rest on mannequins
against the wall. Tomorrow we fly
away, a new life.
Melcontents 