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Cinderella

Rating: 3.1

Her imaginary playmate was a grown-up
In sea-coal satin. The flame-blue glances,
The wings gauzy as the membrane that the ashes
Draw over an old ember --as the mother
In a jug of cider-- were a comfort to her.
They sat by the fire and told each other stories.

"What men want..." said the godmother softly--
How she went on it is hard for a man to say.
Their eyes, on their Father, were monumental marble.

Then they smiled like two old women, bussed each other,
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COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Susan Williams 08 October 2015

Is this a picture of the poet as well? tell stories to the fire. But best, dead, damned, to rock forever Beside Hell's fireside- to see within the flames He is so dark- he sees darkness even in a child's fairytale- he seems to me to be a suicide walking

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