Why You Do Not Come To Me

[carose59]

Why You Do Not Come To Me



I have   no spinning wheel
         no spindle,

         no thorns to dream of,
                               winding  twining
                             twisting    coiling
                            imprisoning my heart.
         No need for you to gallop up, sword aloft.

 I own   no hood of scarlet;
         no cherry cloak proclaims my presence
                    in my wanders through the woods
         no fanged, slathering wolf accosts me
                                    menaces me
         no devious predator schemes to chicane
                                  my innocent self,
                                  devour my family.
         No need for you to come striding from the
                                  deep
                                  dark
                                  forest
                            with your sturdy axe.

         No mirror proclaims my resplendence.
The apples--
            red
            ripe
         not   glowing with an evil
                                   elixir
were purchased at the grocery store.
They grew moldy and were put
                              out
                              with
                               the
                              trash.
  I am   not the fairest in the land.

         No satin slippers to wear out
               in a night's time--
                              dancing
                                     dancing
                                            dancing
 'til you come for me.

My trap
    is   not a tower high. 
         
My hair,
       (now cinnamon,
         not gold in any form)
           falls in curls to just below my ears,
                             too short for
                                    either
                                           c
                                            l
                                             i
                                              m
                                               b
                                                i
                                                 n
                                                  g
                                               or
                                      extemporaneous verse.
I have   not
      been
                    imprisoned by a witch,
   have   not
      been
                     menaced by a dragon,
   have   not
      been
                     cursed by a sorcerer.

My days are
         not spent sifting through cinders
                          under the watchful eye
                                        of a wicked
                                   stepmother,
or eating confectionary houses.

   (Though, truth be told,
 I have been accused of undo sensitivity
       it has been said that I could feel
                a pea
              under a
                mattress
                         in the next room.)
    I cannot spin straw to gold,
      can make
                no claim to royal blood 
   or fairy godmother;
                no secret identity.

Clothed only in my mirror-plainness,
              I am no beauty, 
                               bear no enchantment.


Still--
sweetheart, come to me
         wearing feral mask
      clothed in beast's attire

let me find your hidden heart.