A Hiding Place

Cinderella plays a toy piano

in the hiding place of the mind,

the shelter of fairy tales

with frail porcelain wall

that easily fracture like egg shells

because they are creations

of life a princess lives

crafted in pillow confession

lived in a castle,

kept in the closet

where the light never touches.

 

Furnished with thrones and crowns

collected while window shopping

at the fairy godmother store for glass slippers,

which exists in slumber land.

 

Gazes so addictive

into the play house of wishes,

for a while to slip inside

and be the china doll

who breathes paradise,

exhale the scents of refuse

from spoiled dreams.

 

On cold afternoons in loneliness

its door so easily open,

sometimes able to carry the furniture

back to the living room,

they glow in their apparitions

to keep the heart warm

until the night evaporates their presence.