Stepsister
By Joshua Gage
 
My mother swears me beautiful
and trains me with a hazel cane
to gently step with straightened back
until my calves and shoulders scar
with lessons memorized in blood.
 
My mother swears me beautiful
despite my stepsister, who speaks
to birds and calls them to her hands
with every task that mother sets.
Still, I cannot help but see
her visage underneath the ash
unpocked, unmoled, so unlike mine.
 
My mother swears me beautiful
and promises crowns as I choke
against the lace and whale bone, skin
scraped smooth with wool and witch hazel
then polished white with lead. Mother
scatters lentils in the hearth
for Aschenputtel to gather up
while I clear my eyes with lemon juice
and belladonna, then plaster beauty
patches to my face for men
to read my nocturnal intentions.
 
My mother swears me beautiful
even though my foot won’t fit
the slipper’s fur. “Brace yourself,” she says,
the cleaver ready in her hand.

Joshua Gage is an ornery curmudgeon from Cleveland, His first full-length collection, breaths, is available from VanZeno Press. Intrinsic Night, a collaborative project he wrote with J. E. Stanley, was recently published by Sam’s Dot Publishing.  He is a graduate of the Low Residency MFA Program in Creative Writing at Naropa University. He has a penchant for Pendleton shirts, rye whiskey and any poem strong enough to yank the breath out of his lungs. He stomps around Cleveland in a purple bathrobe where he hosts the monthly Deep Cleveland Poetry hour and enjoys the beer at Brew Kettle.

IMAGE: Illustration from 1865 edition of Cinderella.

Written by Erzebet

Artist, author, editor, bookbinder. Collector of bones.

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