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.