By Charlotte Edsall
Ophelia lies
sinking
her placid face ensuring us we should not fret
even as her skirts mingle with the silt
this is beautiful
see how her hair halos
the color complimented by the pond weeds and the willow
her water-lily skin
a precious thing
Snow White lies
cold in a crystal casket
silent and worshiped
by her men
this is beautiful
barely a breath from her cherry lips
see how still her sculpted flesh
a rosy little Apple
ripe for the plucking
It is 1882 in Paris
a body has just been pulled from the Seine
as she lays there on that icy slab
her face a mask of relief
sure, she has finally escaped
the rule of men
the coroner wonders at her nubile skin
this is beautiful
he decides
pours hot wax over her lips drowns her twice
steals her face away
to keep for his own delights
or to sell and make a mint