Nobody asked her
if she wanted to marry the prince.
It was just assumed. She in such dam
-sel’d distress, after all. He in shining
armor. She couldn’t even see his face,
tell if his eyes were kind. His kisses
came without woo or warning. He slayed
the dragon she had befriended, and ended
the spell she might have learned to love.
(She can’t remember the last time she had
a nap that good.) She should have just
stayed in the woods, really, with the birds
and the breeze. The trees always had her
back, and a knack for holding her just
right. The castle’s cold, and silent. She
longs for the violence of storms, perhaps
a pirate. From the stone throne where she
sits, this (glass) slippered song just doesn’t fit.
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