This is for day-2, poetry challenge by Terri Windling ( http://windling.typepad.com/blog/2013/10/poe.html#comment-6a00e54fcf73858834019affe630ba970b)



The Hag and I


The Hag and I,
For a living
We make rampion salads and spin gold.
To pass the time
she tells me tales
Of her sister‘s
love for mirrors,
or of her aunt’s cottage of candy,
I listen while I chop the herbs and vegetables,
But only she mixes the spices,
Secret, scented, seductive.


When I spin endless reams, she says
‘Careful, do not prick yourself,
Like niece Beauty did,
We really cannot afford a hundred year sleep.
Times are tough and even gold spun by a maiden
Has few takers’.


When she goes to the village,
I look out into clouds.
Far below,
Peasants and nobleman pass,
Look up furtively, hurriedly,
I wave but no one waves back.


In the evenings, I throw down a rope
Of gold,
And the Hag climbs up,
Takes out her pouch
Counts out the copper,
Dines on unsold salad,
And then it’s time to spin again.


‘This evening’s tale is about my brother Rumple’,
‘Stop me if you have heard it before’.
Nimble and swift, her bony fingers spin,
Fine threads of gold,
And I see,
Moistness and tenderness,
In old wrinkled eyes.