She felt like Cinderella, before the evening
gown glittered or fairy godmother granted wishes.
Not the Cinderella with horse drawn carriage. Before
any tiara wrapped around that hard, hair sprayed up-do.
She felt like Cinderella, wrapped in rags
mopping grimy floors. Days spent on dreams, wishes.
Cinderelly, whom mice called mother. Slopping
soapy suds and handkerchief held hair.
The princess in house slippers. Worn, seams plucking
peaking bare toes. One true love
of laundry, heaping.