After the 13th fairy cursed me
my father ordered all the spinning wheels destroyed.
Great heaving piles of burning timbers came crashing down,
who knew there were that many spindles afoot?
We were all desperate to keep my innocence
From draining out.
Of course he could not anticipate
that the fire would entrance me.
I stood in the tower belonging to the wise woman
they carried down the spiral staircase
when she died months ago.
Staring at the conflagration below
and turning to the last intact wheel,
I didn’t have the heart to burn her.
My fingers stroked its surface
until I found a splinter.
Gripping it firmly in my hand
I stabbed my own skin
to watch my innocence flow.
Lifting my finger to my lips,
I tasted my transformation.

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