The 13th guest is the gift we didn’t see.
When I was younger I used to love to watch Disney movies. I knew all of the songs from everything. I used to imagine myself, sitting on the edge of a well like Snow White, singing the wishing song. The very epitome of a happy ending fairy story.
When I was older I learned more about fairy story history—Sleeping beauty’s rape and Ariel’s death from pining. And yet, in spite of everything, I still wanted this kind of magic in my world. Is this how it happens? Is this how we dream, even knowing the faults inside of our wishing?
Have we Disney-fied the scary pieces?
After all, in the movies, these things only happened to other people.
The 13th guest came to the feast and she told them: childbirth carries risk—like life; like all things.
And still not until I climbed out of dreaming;
Still not until I pulled grief from my eyes;
Still not until I rubbed smoke from the mirror,
Was I prepared to see—the 13th guest was me.
