A Fairy Tale, Dashed

'T'were hot in the redwood forest, darlin's, and very HOT here at home on the coast of California. I read a bit, wrote a bit, dozed some, ate some, hiked some, ogled LOTS of lovely river stones and brought a few home.

While I lark about in Big Sur, Rachel takes TFE's Poetry Bus on its world tour. She asks for a poetic version of children's stories. Here would be my take on that, and my inventive fellow riders will be here.


The Last of the Hard-Lost Fairy Tales


Who be I
Cinderella?
that dreamed of more than ashes
that from them ashes fashioned
that coach/that gown/them crystal shoes
what she would later slyly lose
(what left Prince Charming asking whose)
that waltzed within them castle walls
that cinder girl that wowed them all
yeah, that wench that won the charming prince—
she done been happy ever since?

I be unconvinced
that they be times when magic pass
and vision don’t return to ash
that wanting get what waiting won’t:
Ain’t saying that it can’t.
Am saying that it don’t.