White Bird

Her rose silk dress is stripped from her back,
her pearl hair ornament plucked out,
her bracelet of water sapphires ripped off.
Her light-filled room and snowy bed
are denied her. Now she must wear
a soot-stained smock, wooden shoes.
In ashes by the hearth, she toils
and sleeps. But from the hazel twig
she plants, sinewy roots wind down:
in time, a canopy of leaves
shadows her mother's grave. Beneath it,
each day she mourns and dreams.
The white bird who comes to sing
on the highest branch will grant
any wish she might choose to name.