The Wizard holds the frog
at lip height,
waiting — patiently —
while the princess
summons her courage,
prays to whatever deity
may be listening today
for a prince she can live with.
The needs of her people –
the ‘happily-ever-after’ –
that gives their lives stability
are wrapped around her
like miles of chain.
She closes her eyes and
kisses the cold, damp lips.
Arms and legs unfold –
again and again and again –
defying geometry,
and the laws of nature
until the eyes surrender
and the mind simply waits.
A prince. Of goodly stature,
a toothsome, twinkling smile
and well dressed in fine clothes
(if somewhat old fashioned)
Though, gods, she thinks
did they have to be green?
There is cheering,
and, to her dismay,
the crowd’s eyes move,
following his every gesture,
hanging on his lips
as he speaks of duty.
At court he speaks of change,
of how things should be done,
of the myriad – little – changes
he would make to the state
she has so carefully crafted.
And the people applaud.
Walking the ramparts that night
he tells her of his needs
of what she must do to please.
Of the need for an heir
so that his name will live on
and how fulfilled she will be.
They pass the embattlement
marked by the masons
as needing repair.
And, just for a moment,
she wonders if it is too soon,
to resume her royal life.
Her arm shoots out
catches him in the chest
with a practiced strength.
He falls against the battlement
and the mortar gives way
with a slow grinding sound.
The funeral is magnificent.
The princess cries, wears black
for a year and a day,
then bravely ascends to her throne
Already waiting for the whispers –
will she never marry again?
The princess stands on the ramparts
wrapped in wool and furs
it is cold – has been for years –
and she is tired beyond belief.
She sighs and turns to the wizard,
“bring me another frog.”