ure, she’d wondered if it might happen:
third daughter, impoverished kingdom,
no princely prospects at any distance
from which news or rumors came.

Destiny. She knew how the stories went.
Don’t bring the candle to bed
Don’t open the secret door. Don’t leave;
or if you leave, come back.
But ... a rooster?

She did her best to break the spell:
kissed his beak, his comb, stroked
his bright hackle feathers, let him
perch on her chair, crap on her pillow,
crow in her ear. She fed him sweet corn,
oyster-shell, and rose beetles,

fed coq au vin to the first wandering peddler
who strolled through the castle gates.