Cinderella
Abby Carola
It has only
been four weeks
but she is
just like ice:
cold and still.
How already
has it been
four weeks? I’ve
not been kind.
She minds not.
And I wonder why.
I continue
to offer
a smile with
ev’ry word.
She does not.
Each and all days
her voice is
the sweetest
sound I’ve heard,
always there.
I wish it would stop.
Mornings are for
laundry, tea,
helping her
prep. First, “Hi!”
then, “get out.”
I wait early
for her to
help me dress.
Why am I
so nervous?
I can’t make sense of it.
Kind gentlemen
with no place
to go stay
and talk away
afternoons.
On some walks I
will spot her
talking to
the village
boys, laughing.
My body tenses.
I help her do
herself up.
I could go
if mother
had no chores,
There is a ball
tonight. I
do not want
to go, dress
up, unless
she says she does.
I sat, crying,
when appeared
a woman,
with a dress,
shoes, for me.
All guests are
beautiful,
important.
I see her
entering
How did she get here?
No one here is
like me. And
they have no
clue. Oh - it’s
almost twelve.
She wears a blue
gown and glass
slippers. Just
wrong on her,
beautiful,
more than me.
Abby Carola
Bells ring in my head.
I started running.
The carriage
collapses.
My bare foot
hits the mud.
The music swells
and he talks
as we dance,
and I try
to focus.
Pull yourself together.
It becomes but
a memory.
There is no
one to tell.
Like a dream.
I think about
how I saw
her dancing,
with others,
through the night.
I wonder if she knows.
The slipper fits
and he asks
to be wed.
Who am I
to say no?
They found a shoe
outside the
grounds. Could it
be mine? No,
they can’t know.
A prince comes to
the door with
a slipper
made of glass.
It can't be.
Marry a prince? That can’t happen
She slips it on
and her face
lights up. I
storm off. My
throat tightens.
I was not expecting this.
I prepare to
leave but I
do not have
much. They will
need new help.
Of course it’s her
who gets to
find love. To
leave us. And
feel freedom.
I should speak to her.
Never could I
imagine
life better
than this. She
is not here
to hurt me.
It has been years
now. Mother
has gone, my
children come.
And yet, still,
I think about her often.
On that last day
she said good-
bye. She touched
my hair. Her
eyes had tears.
I write letters
she will not
receive. I
speak only
of days since.
And it lingers in my mind.
Julia Amodeo
21
Poetry
This poem is an attempt to reframe the story of Cinderella from the original understanding of a heterosexual love triangle. In this version, Cinderella has one stepsister whose contempt for her comes from the pressures of existing in a royal family as well as, dare she admit, a stifled attraction to Cinderella instead of a desire for the prince as depicted in more traditional iterations.
