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Now reading
Mélisande des Cheveux en Brosse
TURNER CASSITY
CENDRILLON
Godmother, you have altered all things else
And not transfigured me. My sisters' guilts
Speak English still, but if they twinge at all
It has not slowed their going to the ball.
Their progress is a chauffeured, pumpkin traffic
Toward lit chateaux Canadian Pacific.
This, the mother house (stepmother house)
Has scores of chimneys, more than one live mouse.
Roofline sharp and roofing copper-green,
Chateau, you press your everlasting lien
On each long adolescence, you the hearth
And you the ball room. Suffering your dearth
Of belt or Disney powered mediators,
I mop your floors, I dust your radiators,
Sort your trash-a cinder separatist.
Someday my prince . . . will be Prince Jansenist,
Charmless as only Jansenists can be.
I date an English boy with fleur de lys
Insignia on his Yamaha, crest
With Union Jack emblazoned on his chest.
Bilingualism cries "The hour's eleven!"
I feel middle aged at half past seven.
TURNER CASSITY
Neither glass nor loss nor hope of ease
The carpet slipper fits and is my peace;
Though, when the red brick turrets dip their flags
(The Maple Leaf, if one may say so, rags)
And in their chill June sky the stars are many,
I love the fairy tale as well as any.