In Northern Canada,
the Ice Queen brought me to live
in the palace as her adopted child,
just like in the fairy tale.
Whether she planted a sliver of ice in my heart,
or whether I simply took on her behavior
patterns is unclear.
At 17 I moved out of that crystal den,
re-entered the world of men.
My men have never let me forget it.
So many comparisons to Hitchcock blondes,
aloof, teasing creatures
who never warmed in the brink of love.
And this one, my 3rd husband,
begs me to have surgery to remove the implant
of my foster-mother.
His tears fall upon my neck night & day.
I am not without conscience,
He claims my skin gets whiter with time, burgeoning snow.
The blood flows truest from the mother’s line.