Falcons do not grab footwear
for their nest, not the slipper
that the Pharaoh gets served on his lap

.....He looks up and everyone
.....looks with him
.....at the falcon in the sky

It must be a sign
an assignment from heaven
and the search begins

.....The welfare of the entire nation
.....is at stake, the question
.....is: to find or to fall

The court moves from cottage to cottage
to see the women and the girls
all over the wide delta

.....The heavenly slipper fits at the foot
.....of the foreign Pale Face
.....the slave who is different

She had put it to dry
after washing clothes in the river
and shows the other one

Cinderella was banned from the ball
Her dreams exposed to the final maul

Her stepmother and sisters continued to screech
Upon with their abusive preach

She did not hear a word they said
Over the cloud of dark whispers in her head

As they left for the ball, unbothered by their behaviour
Cinderella was struck by her saviour

Her hands shaky, she had a course of action
The voices providing smooth traction

With no sense of hope
She began to tie the rope

With a step, it was only loose
But she still had her noose

Her head still assured
As she began to secure

Her future began to brighten
As she reached up to tighten

As her heart pumped
With no hesitation, she jumped


The snap of her neck, unnatural bending
This was her fairy-tale ending

Letter to Cinderella (and her Texas Fairytales)

~for EJ Love~


now lookee here, girl,
slow down pardner,
blanket love-spells need to be addressed,
especially if a return requested back to
the great state of big ole Texas

as I am loved in Texas, I’m well aware
how hard it is to find love in wide open spaces,
more trucks and cows than people,
which is NYC in reverse,
both hard places in different ways
to make angelic fairies appear,
released intact from busted soap bubbles

so here’s my idée fixe,
to the reading, less,
to the writing, more,
command thyself to march towards
the seventeenths poem, and many more
to arrive at the promised
hallelujah

take the formless visions, potions,
drifting in you, figure them into words,
shaped with passion and cunning, twitching in
a creme of teasing, a dollop of wanting,
a whimsy, sense of humor, stir with another’s pinky finger,
bigger than the ineffable lone star of lonely,
an eye tear for flavor, a salty secreted ingredient,
that needs, requires another’s hand to wipe away

and a flashing neon sign:
Texas Red Amber,  Chops, and
real good loving desired!

only good loving people,
steady on their feet,
need apply, poets favored,
but a certain kind of cowboy,
ok as well

what be my expertises in matters these,
why I am your chastened, mean no more,
sweet sister who see your spells flying by,
who writes to you with newly learned humility

Come give this Cinderella the love she needs,

After midnight when she's in her rags and her fancy dresses are gone

my desperation lies somewhere
between a pumpkin carriage and
glass slippers.

my truth is cinder ashes;
of feet too big or too small,
of a dress cinched so tight I
cannot breathe.

I've grown up reading and watching Cinderella,
but I never thought that I would actually be her.

Growing up to always cleaning the house
from every piece of dirt and grass blade,
to every spotless floor and cut lawn.

My brothers didn't do their chores,
and my parents are completely alive
commanding and demanding that I do everything.

It's hard sometimes,
being the oldest sibling -
being the one with the most responsibilities.

But if I haven't told you yet,
my name is Cinderella

- signed with all my cleaning supplies

at this forbidden hour,
Cinderella has to be home,
yet her hands are gently being kissed
as her heart turns into a pumpkin,
ready to be patched in mid March,
she dances with a broken glass heel,
twirls the ticking clock,
making the hour golden.