the palace has promised three gold coins to he  
who might find the pea troubling the princess.

        the royal room is full of goose feathers and eggshells –  
        many, already cracked, seeping syrupy rage.   
                     overseen by wise men, wizards, priests and physicians,  
                     a guard in gold stands splitting mattress after mattress  
                     with the glistening tip of his spear. slit up the belly  

                                  and round the edges, each is lifted and emptied  
                                  of its stuffing. all of it is carefully picked apart.  

                     still, no one can find the pea troubling the princess; 
                     the pain drags her from her sleep every night.   
        gutted of their innards, the mattresses are piled away,  
buried in a forgotten corner of the castle. atop their carcasses  
the princess tosses and turns, plagued by aches and pains  
that no one can see.  

         drawn with pain, drunk on fury, from the top of her 
tower of failures, she writes out a new decree:  

should anyone find the pea troubling the princess, they 
might have as much gold as they can carry.