against you many long years ago.

Who could remember such a thing?

Unpleasant things are easily

forgotten if you consider

who’s near and dear. Are you crying?

Snow White:

Yes, I must when I realize

how quick you are to wring the past

by the neck the way you wanted

mine wrung. Crying, of course, over

the sinful absent mind that wants

to sweet-talk me. O how you give

this sin such wings, and yet it flies

terribly with this new pair

that do not fit. It lies so close

to me and you, this thing you want

bantered away with a sweet word,

so close, I’d say, close to the touch,

such that I can never forget it,

nor you who committed it.

Hunter, speak, you did swear my death?

Hunter:

Of course, princess, a grisly death,

just not performed as loud and clear

as the fairy tale made public.

The humble way you begged touched me,

your face, lying there sweet as snow

beneath the kiss of the sunlight.

I sheathed that which I intended

for your murder, stabbing the deer

that leapt across our path. I sucked

the blood out of him greedily.

Yours, however, I left untouched.

So don’t say I swore you should die.

I took pity and broke my oath

before I did you any harm.

Queen:

So what are you crying about?

He drew his dagger as a joke.

He’d have to stab what’s soft in him

before he could ever stab you.

But he didn’t. The soft in him

is alive like the morning sun.

Come give me a kiss and forget.

Look up with joy and show some sense.

Snow White:

How can I kiss the lips of one

who pushed this Hunter off, kissed him

into doing the bloody deed.

I’ll never kiss you. With kisses

you fired the Hunter to murder

and my death was seconds away,

because he was your sweet lover.

Queen:

What did you say?

Hunter:

Me with kisses?

Prince:

I really believe it’s all true.

That man in the green jacket has

far less respect than befits him

in the presence of this great Queen.

Snow White, O how evilly have

you been played by such ruthless hate.

It’s a wonder that you’re alive.

You survived poison and a knife.

From what stuff are you made,

for you’re dead and yet so lovely

alive, indeed, so little dead

that life must be in love with you?

Tell me, did this Hunter stab you?

Snow White:

No, no, there beats in this fellow

a good heart filled with compassion.

If the Queen had this heart, she would

be a better mother to me.

Queen:

I mean to be much better with you

than your keen suspicion suggests.

I did not send the Hunter off

after you with kisses. Blind fear

has made you too apprehensive.

In fact, I have always loved you