Stuck

by Heather D. Frankland


Sleeping Beauty turned to stone, blue eyes, slightly open, became marbles, good luck charms.

People pay 1.50 on Sundays at the happily-ever-after museum to count the cobwebs on her lips, to see the black widow perched on that alabaster cheek.

Boys shove each other, dare each other to claim a kiss, “You could get treasure! You could be rich!” They boast behind their mothers’ varicose-veined legs, that skin like stained glass.

The prince, a janitor, touches everything in the room except her, even when her dust becomes inches thick and the visitors complain; he won’t let one touch commit him to this rescue trade.

A mother goes over to Sleeping Beauty, places one kiss on that unlined forehead. Concentrating her stare, she wills that stomach to take breath, that mouth to cough up words.

But solid is solid, with dreams too heavy to lift and fears too many to stand. Sleepy Beauty focuses on holding her breath and stilling her hand.


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Heather D. Frankland holds both a Masters of Fine Arts and a Masters of Public Health from New Mexico State University, and she was a Peace Corps and Peace Corps Response Volunteer in Peru and Panama. She has been published in the ROAR, Plane Tree Journal, Sin Fronteras Press, Sweet Lit, Slippery Elm Literary Journal, and others. She attended the Marge Piercy Poetry Intensive Poetry Workshop in Summer 2022. Her poetry chapbook, Midwest Musings, will be published by Finishing Line Press. Originally from Muncie, Indiana, she currently lives in Silver City, NM where she teaches at WNMU.