"Somewhere in the world, it is naptime." ~ stolen from James Walkswithwind



When she touched the spindle,
There must have been relief,
A sigh throughout the kingdom,
But especially in the throne room,
Knowing as they fell asleep
That the worst was over,
That wool and cotton could be worn,
If they ever awoke,
(There being only so many ways to drape a bearskin
And still pretend one is keeping up with Fashion)
That the country's wealth
Could be spent on something other than
Textile imports,
That at last they could relax,
Stop watching with a frantic parent's eye
For any sign of something sharp
Glinting near their precious, accident-prone child,
And get some sleep.

And there must have been something there
For her, as well, the briar-cradled one,
As she reached out a hand to touch
The wheeled wood contraption,
A rush of recognition
Of something long denied her,
A chance to reach, to touch,
Unswaddled, unprotected,
The way we play with thorns and needles,
Testing their sharpness
On our own tender flesh, a new sensation,
Even pleasant, as long as it is done on purpose.
In the spinning alcove
In the fairy's attic,
There must have been cloth,
She had to have been doing something
For sixteen years, waiting for a dizzy princess
To stumble across her hiding place--
So when the child reached and touched
And cried out once, and settled down to dream,
There must have been, there and nowhere else
In the kingdom,
Crisp, cool cotton sheets
In which to get some sleep.

~Mad Poetess