| Snow White, Rose Red Roses were falling, falling like children, from the sky all night. Early next morning my sister gathered up petals, with a thorn for a needle sewed them together, all the white petals. These were her stories. These were her warnings. * * * Give me three words said the voice in the dark. I chose maze, escape and thread. She told the tale of the Minotaur. I recognised his tread. She asked for more: pebbles and crumbs and moon. Two lost children. They must find shelter soon. The witch is kind. Bakes a cake. A homemade gingerbread tomb. * * * She brings red roses from her garden as I’m about to leave. We both know this is the last time. I say, her roses are her stories. She closes her eyes, says Give me three words. I give her father, mother, brother. She gives me roses. Diana Brodie |
