NUTCRACKER
The feet, always. Mother. Seven steps backwards. Blood from my seven heads. A burlap sack. A bag of heads. Thank you for the sword, he’ll say. Look what I’ve done for you. Surrounding mother’s mouse children with cats. They will fall asleep if you don’t pet them. Enlarged head. Wide face. Overgrown beard. You’ve never worn boots. Over and over, men broke their teeth. A bruise on your shoe heel. Stupid girl. An object can’t love you back. Children tumbling like pinwheels. Pixies in glass cages. Look at them flutter. A grandfather clock. Logs on the fire. You don’t understand me, or why there is blood on your arm. Where did this broken glass come from? I am capable of so much. I will put him in my sharp teeth. I want your sweets. I want your dolls. I don’t know why either. The drive inside is real. Look at the evergreen tree spiraling upwards. It’s reaching for the stars. For the heavens. For the ceiling and beyond. It’s like a cartoon for children. A pine forest in winter. Arabian dance. Do it for him. I will be there at night. Whispering in your pretty ear with my seven voices. What is sleep anyway but practice for a longer and longer sleep? There is a mirror in your room. And the mirror is me. I am a reflection, and every time you see your face, I will be there. Even if you don’t recognize me. I’m there. Mother’s children, too. We are standing on your shoulders with open eyes. The dead of winter is coming. The year’s longest day. Gather enough to make it through, but don’t take too much.
Luke Rolfes is the author of SLEEP LAKE (Braddock Avenue Books), IMPOSSIBLE NAKED LIFE (Kallisto Gaia Press), and FLYOVER COUNTRY (Georgetown Review Press). He teaches creative writing at Northwest Missouri State University and edits LAUREL REVIEW.
