The queen mother ebony-haired and also dark-
headed. And so Snow White. Skin like a dropped
handkerchief, mouth like a wound. All women
possessing a talking mirror. All women when young
a virgin-winter beauty. The hunter—drawn to that
heat, fevered—pulls innards from a boar. The queen
eats violet. The heart-blind hunter scrapes clean
his knife in sugar snow. Night animals swarm
the light scent, roused. Snow White, dark-headed.
In the dwarves’ hut, swaying her broom to the tune,
beauty’s imperative. Which his how the mother
traps her: bodice strings to shrink the waist, cloisonné
combs wet with poison. The age-old beckoning red
fruit. Snow White encased in glass so she may be still
seen. Unchanged. And the prince is not a wolf as he
kisses her. But in his dream, she remains unchanged.