Nutcracker’s dream in a country’s ghetto
Other worlds
Nutcracker’s dream in a country’s ghetto
By Gabriela Dimitrova
The breeze of early winter morning
tapped the snow crowns
of the slender black trees –
invisible foliage,
bodies set straight,
feet in plie-jette
‘Ready!’ stirs the wind-conductor.
The laurel bushes lean forward:
bowing their green gowns,
they formed two rows.
And stepping to the side, they reveal
a little old house,
with papered window frames.
Two young children, clicking
feet to the tune of wind.
Their sleeves
hanging loose,.
Holes swelling where pockets should have been.
Their cold feet barely touching
the bumpy earth floor,
Their black arms clapping, left
and right jump-
kicking, gracefully bowing…
They harrow the evening quiet.
The chill of the winter doesn’t halt their dance. Snaking arms, swirled with mud,
draw magic from a book on the floor. A Sugar-pink Fairy shouts from the pages, ‘Keep dancing,keep warm. Keep dreams alive. Sweet
is the joy of
the Nutcracker Prince
and the dark-skinned young princess,
like the gold and red baubles on
the Christmas Tree you see on your
out-dated TV or
on the shelves of the Department Store –
what not is there that you cannot afford.
Come to my kingdom of twirls
and cakes. You’ll sit in my thrones
and not on your ragged divan;
I’ll lay fluffy slippers on your bluish feet;
I’ll blow the holes in your clothes
to the very raw ridges of heaven
and fill them up with fragrant spring flowers.
I’ll fill your empty table with
sweet bread of ginger and sugar plum.
Your old cracked bathtub I’ll turn into
a glittery lake, where you’ll wash off
the grime on your faces
and the wounds
on your feet that refuse to heal,
and you’ll come out renewed,
both strong and fearsome. Throw the slipper of poverty
on the head of the rich
mouse that lives in a castle and drives a black limo. He ows you
shiny dresses and happy ever afters.
About the Creator
Gabriela Dimitrova
Freelance writer of poetry and fiction
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