Challenging Poetry

Monday's Child

my first day
was warm—desert warm
on a February afternoon
and when I was laid
in my mother’s arms, she marveled
at the translucence of my skin,
the black down of my hair—

and they called me Princess,
and called on good fairies
to wave their wishes over my cradle—
may she be kind.
may she be wise,
may she be fair.

all Monday’s children
are fair of face,
pale and bloodless so that
when I glance into a mirror
in the dark,
my face glows green and sickly,
and those who pass me
on the street,
beg me to sit for a moment
and get my color back.

and so, I long for my prince to come,
some charming man, blind
to the pale cast to my skin
and willing to break all mirrors
for me.

line count: 28