The Unicorn Tapestries

When winter is over, you shake the tapestries covering potatoes in the cellar.
Papa will tell you a story when you’ve finished your chores:
pull up corn poppy, shepherd’s purse, dandelion, thistle,
fat hen. Fingertips bloody. Rash.

fat hen fingertips bloody rash

Have you ever seen a headless man?
Papa asks without opening his eyes and you know he can
see still the blade, the eyes, the
bloodsoaked cobblestone

see still the blade the eyes

I met a boy there, Papa says.
Where?
He was looking at the body, Papa says, not the head, the body.
Papa scratches his beard and tells you the boy will be your husband.

where?

And he wore a grey cap, Papa says approvingly,
as if the boy’s cap were silver and gold,
as if you do not find your fingers around the throat
of your corn husk doll.

grey cap Papa says

As if you don’t need Mama’s help to reach the high shelf.
Mama dries sage & marigolds in the linen
for your new house, next year, Mama says.

new house next year

Nobody is there now to hide the newborn kittens.
Your older brother will take them to the stream.
The potato sack returns empty.

potato sack returns

Vegetables, again. Tapestries, again.
But your home is in town now—no house, top floor.
Your husband is a glovemaker’s apprentice.

town now no house top floor

Mama brings more linen for the baby.
Papa, Donkeyskin. Brother, one kitten for your mice.

donkeyskin brother one kitten

The baby calls you Mama.

you mama