(each stanza goes back and forth-about the queen then about Snow then the queen, etc. All is from the POV of the mirror. The queen's parts all start with "mirror mirror on the wall."
"Mirror mirror on the wall."
She leans close,
her breath fogs my surface.
"Who is the fairest of them all?"
lips form out of glass
(The mirror has no face)
"You are, my lady."
She smiles, red,
brushes her fingers across me
and I shiver.
/
I meet Snow when she is
only a little, ugly slip of a girl.
She sneaks into the room,
bare feet padding softly,
sharp eyes bright.
I watch her open my lady's drawers,
reaching small hands in
to bring out perfumes and paints.
she opens them, fingers messy
dips one nail into the red
and smears it across me, laughing.
/
"mirror mirror on the wall,"
her voice is soft, distracted,
"who is the fairest of them all?"
I watch her take the pins from her hair,
fumbling fingers, tired eyes.
"You are, my lady."
Her smile is radiant,
and I like to think
she is looking at me.
/
The next time Snow comes in
she is older—though still just a child.
This time, when she takes out the lipstick
she pulls it awkwardly across her face
and grimaces when it smears.
"He'll never think I'm pretty," she says,
throwing it down on the table.
It rolls onto the floor
and she bends to pick it up
screws on the cap.
/
"Mirror mirror on the wall."
She is putting on a lemon-yellow dress
face obscured by tulle
long arms reaching up.
"who is the fairest of them all?"
She turns to face me,
twirls around
her skirt rises up.
"You are, my lady."
She blows me a kiss
before she goes.
/
Snow comes into the room
drunk and laughing.
"I shouldn't be in here,"
she says to open air.
She sits down across from me
and holds out her arms.
"How do I look? Am I gorgeous?"
"Somewhat," I answer.
She stops, mouth
dropping open.
"Whoa." Her eyes are wide.
"You talk?"
"Obviously," I reply.
She smiles.
"That's it, you're awesome."
/
"Mirror mirror on the wall."
my lady sits down
unhooking her shoes
pulling on blue slippers.
"Who is the fairest of them all?"
"You are, my lady."
She smiles and reaches for her robe.
"You flatterer."
/
Snow comes in to visit me.
"You're not beautiful," I say,
cutting her off before she can ask.
She frowns. "I know."
"I just wanted to talk to you."
an incredulous eye forms above my lips.
"You what?"
She shrieks, covers her mouth
looking around guiltily.
"I didn't know you could do that," she says,
leaning forward.
(Neither did I.)
/
"Mirror mirror on the wall."
My lady is putting on a grey evening gown
reaching up
to do the string of pearl buttons
on her back.
"Who is the fairest of them all?"
"You are, my lady."
I blink at her, but she doesn't notice.
She is struggling to reach the top button
neck craned to see.
/
Snow comes into the room
eyes sparkling.
"Guess what?" she says.
"What?"
She is wearing a fur coat.
"It's snowing!"
"Oh."
"Oh?" she asks.
"I have never seen snow."
She pushes her hair behind her ears
rolls up her sleeves.
"Let me show you."
She reaches, on tip toe
to unhook me from my wall.
"Are you sure this is a good idea—"
I swing, ponderously. Shut my eyes
but I can still see.
She walks quickly to the door,
sticks out her head,
hurries to the end of the hall,
and opens the window.
For a moment, I am suspended
above the ground
miles below.
"Isn't it amazing?"
Through my terror, I notice
something white
falling from the sky.
When it lands on me I feel cold
When it lands on Snow it
hesitates,
curls up,
and disappears,
leaving pale drops of water
on her arms.
/
"Mirror mirror on the wall,"
she says. She is rushing to and fro
packing a large bag.
"Who is the fairest of them all?"
I sigh. She puts a hairbrush
on top of a silken slip.
"You are."
"I think I've forgotten something,"
she says,
hands on her hips.
(Me.)
/
"What do you think?" Snow asks.
It is her sixteenth birthday.
She is wearing a dark purple gown.
"I feel so weird," she admits.
"I don't want to go downstairs."
Downstairs, the party awaits.
I smile.
"You'll be fine," I say.
"You look beautiful."
/
"Mirror mirror on the wall,"
she says as she braids her hair,
fingers slipping through brown locks,
"Who is the fairest of them all?"
I say nothing.
Her fingers still.
"Mirror mirror on the wall,"
she says again.
"Who is the fairest of them all?"
I wait for her to turn to me
and ask what is wrong.
But she only scowls.
"Mirror mirror on the wall," she asks,
"Who is the fairest of them all?"
I open my mouth.
She is looking at me now,
but she doesn't see me.
(A mirror has no face.)
"Snow White," I say,
and watch
in satisfaction
as her lips part,
and she is struck mute.
.
.
.