Archetype

by Margarita Engle

Is it true that nothing reveals more

about a person's secret heart

than the adult memory of a favorite

childhood fairy tale?

I never understood all the fuss

about princesses poisoned

or rescued from dragons.

Hansel and Gretel seemed like a recitation

of the sorrowful evening news

a serial killer, the ovens, absent parents

a famine, crumbs . . .

Instead of magic beanstalks and man-eating giants

or wolves disguised as gentle grandmas

I chose the tale of a bird with a voice that could soothe

the melancholic spirit of an emperor

helpless despite his wealth and power.

Of all tales, only The Nightingale felt

like a story I knew before I was born

about Orpheus calming wild beasts with his lyre

King David's harp easing Saul's despair

Saint Francis with his curious flocks of birds

singing back and forth in a language of wishing

that even the wolf understood.