The Snow Queen

by Jeannine Hall Gailey

You tell yourself he only left you for her

because of the wicked shard of glass in his eye,

but the truth is, every man wants an ice princess.

The truth is, you're too easy to get used to —

your sloppy warmth, the heat from your skin

fresh from the garden — it's too much for him.

He'd rather marvel at her tedious snowflakes,

caress her frosted hair, bask in that cold gaze,

that veneer of symmetry. So you wander

around town like an idiot, forgetting

even your shoes. The boys there

are all still in awe of her. "Did you see

that thing she was driving?" they keep asking.

You set off to bring him back, not thinking

you are the last person he wants to see.

"He's trapped in that ice castle," you murmur,

"He needs to be rescued." Dogged, you follow

the tiny shards of glass, and their sparkle.

And when you finally find him, dark with cold

from her brutal kisses, he doesn't even

recognize you. You stop blaming the shard

in his eye; how can you rescue a man

whose heart, transfixed by skeletal crystal,

craves the bruising of frost?