The Queen, and: Weaning, and: Lost Children
Rent from DeepDyve- The Queen, and: Weaning, and: Lost Children
The Queen
You could have been another woman on her kneesin front of a bucket of water, a brush, a woodsman or wanderer.Instead, the old crone tapped you with her stick: a rush of light
and you were more than bone, you were divine. The riseto power is a run of luck: a pair of kings, a straight flush,snake eyes tattooed on your back. But the death of a queen
is always the crush of her memory. One day becomes a routof years; where are your shoes, your jewels, the mirrorthat made you blush with its old lie? Fools! you cry
at the serving men, The princess is false! Take herinto the forest, crush her pretty neck against the stone.Queens cannot afford their daughters; the magic is undone.The trick to keeping the kingdom whole unravels you. [End Page 163]
Weaning
The egg is cold. Its speckled curve nestlesagainst the flat-bottomed nest, built to restdeep in the grass and weeds. Roadrunneror a guinea hen, I know so little about birds.
I know that unhatched eggs in winter meannothing good. So when my daughter strokesthe shell, asks Can we keep it? I will sleepwith it under my pillow I know she imagines
an unfurling of tiny wings, a bright eye.I say I don't think this egg will hatch.
Well, then, she says,what will happen to the baby?
At this moment, I would like to pretendthat this girl is not my child. Reader,I would like her to be yours. You pointto the profusion of feathers on the ground.
Mention the cats, who look away.Insist, in spite of all you've explainedof birth and hatching, that an egg can bea coffin. And when this child who still
sleeps with lips moving in the memoryof nursing, turns to you and asks,If you die, will I? you answer. [End Page 164]
Lost Children
I step into their room, pull the blanketsfrom the bed, and my daughters are gone.I can't remember the last time I saw them.I am not surprised. I am desperate with fear.
Don't worry. This is the worst nightmareof all. It will ride you until you die.Place a glass of water by your bed. You mayfill it with turpentine, but be warnedthat turpentine is falling out of favor,even with artists. Do not wake in your panicand drink it. Place two stones in the waterand give them your children's names.
You will not dream this dream again.Instead, you will be looking for two stonesin a river of stones. Good luck.
Felecia Caton Garcia holds an MFA from the University of Oregon and a PhD in American studies from the University of New Mexico. Her work has appeared in journals such as Indiana Review, Blue Mesa Review, and the Northwest Review.
