No Kings
This is not a fairy tale
Lives Hang on Your Tongue
Far away in the land of swamps dwelt a ruler who rounded up immigrants and held them in cages. Twenty-five miles to the east was an ancient woman, a grandmother, who lived behind gates, a cage of a sort thought to keep her safe.
Her own safety assured, the woman prayed for the souls of those in the concentration camp. How can I help them she cried out?
As she was contemplating the immigrant’s fate, a beloved friend appeared, her hands full of sea grapes.
“You think you’re safe behind these gates—I’m telling you you’re not. If you want all people to be safe, including the immigrants, you must crush this fruit until you have enough juice for all of the souls in the camp, even if it takes years of your life. But remember, from the moment you begin you must not speak. The first word you utter will be the end of the detainees. Their lives hang on your tongue.”
A modern fairytale? With ogres, trolls, rulers, kings?
Actually, it’s scene adapted from the Hans Christian Anderson fable The Wild Swans that I created in a class I’m taking on Speculative Nonfiction taught by Carmen Maria Machado (In the Dream House.)
In my Work-in-Progress, Breaking the Code of Silence, for fifty-seven years I’ve kept my mouth shut, never talked back, or had an opinion—a lifetime of crushing grapes. I should at least have a winery to show for it.
My dream is to have my book encourage others to speak out. And just as the isolation of Covid set the stage for the tyrant, as we kept ourselves caged in our homes, a form of seclusion, we began a forced separation from one another and in the process of estrangement, a ruler was able to ascend to the presidency in America. The result could be a fairy tale in which we all are forced to stomp the grapes.
Wow, this was so thought-provoking. Thank you, Trish.
No, it's a nightmare