Little Cinderella
she paints lipstick
mother's red
on her sunken face
careful not to smear
the edges of tears
...a kiss upon her cheek
she tries to scrub
her unkempt soul
with the filth
upon the floor
her hands bloodied
trailed in pink suds
she watches
as she shines
the windows
tiny leaves twirling
gracefully
in autumn's breeze
as if in dance
with a prince
she dreams
of pumpkin carriages
drawn by horses
as she twirls thoughts
pretending the rags
are sunday's best dress
she gasps
beneath sobs
in heavy sighs
even "cinderella"
went to the ball
she shivers
beneath the chants
through the halls
where even the echoes
have forgotten her name
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