the Glass Wrist

A man lived up the mountainside
where the swirling mist began
and spoke with the gods of sundry things
past what most men understand.

Yet the gods knew of his loneliness,
for he had only them,
and one day, a crate appeared.
A gift just for him.

Inside was a marble statue,
a beautiful woman rendered.
He reached to touch her slender wrist
and instantly his heart surrendered.

Upon his touch, she took on life
and he stood in awe before her.
“A warning, friend,” he was told,
“for you are just a beholder.

“Her wrist where you touched
became fragile glass.
Treat her gently with great care,
and your joy will all surpass.

“Never doubt her love or life will leave
and back to stone she’ll return.
Her heart will harden and yours will break.”
With that, the gods adjourned.

They lived together on the mountainside
and knew naught but love and joy.
They read his books and talked for hours
of gardening and methods to employ.

At night, they counted stars;
In the morning, they welcomed the sun.
Mem'ries faded of his friends, the gods,
‘til he knew just her, alone.

One day, a stranger came,
a man who climbed tall mountains.
Unaware of the couple’s home,
he climbed for his own ambition.

Eager for company, they bade him stay
and he did for quite a time,
getting to know the mountain and them,
enjoying the gentle clime.

Aware in full of the woman’s beauty,
he approached her when time to leave.
“Come with me,” he said to her,
“and do not my heart bereave.

I care for you and will give you joy.”
“But why,” she asked “when joy is here?
I’ve everything I need or want.”
He grasped her wrists and pulled her near.

At that moment, her husband entered
and saw the stranger and his wife.
Great jealousy flooded his heart and soul,
and to anger he surrendered his life.

He grabbed the stranger, pulling him away,
but his grip on her wrists only tightened.
Under its force, her wrist snapped in two
and the stranger fled, fear heightened.

The man faced his wife with a cruel look,
“Go to him.  I cannot love you now.”
“I’ve done nothing wrong and my heart is yours.”
“You’re lying and that I can’t allow.”

to the man’s surprise and uttter horror,
his wife began turning to stone. 
From her feet to her eyes, life slipped away.
The room filled with an agonized moan.

Then the man remembered what the gods had said
and covered his face to mourn.
For days he cried and beat his breast
for the life and love he’d forsworn.

Finally, one day, he went to the garden,
dragging his wife’s stone image.
He placed it at the garden’s very center
to see and remember their marriage.

Forget-me-nots and Love-lies-bleeding
he planted about its base
and for all his life he tended the flowers
as he gazed at her lifeless face.

In order that humans not ever forget,
from that day on to this,
the gods turn to stone a woman’s heart
when her husband doubts her kiss.

And were you to climb the mountainside
to where the cottage and garden stand,
you’ll find the flowers growing there
around a statue missing one hand.