Cinderella
A mother can be
Cruel as any fairy-tale
Sometimes things are
Worse than they seem to be
Sitting and weeping
In the cold ashes of the hearth
Where the fire of this home
Once burned so bright
I push back soot-
Streaked lank hair
Blur eyes with ashes
And think and dream
Of fairy godmothers
Wielding vengeful wands
Sharp as swords to
Excise this canker
And show me the path
Of ball-gowns and dancing
And a prince of my heart
To kindle a flame
In its long-abandoned hearth.
