Over the Hill and through the Woods (Attys)

 Slipper


    You can ne-
  ver wash off the
 soot. It remains —
deep, encrusted beneath
the skin, cascading an aura
of dust invisible to all but fairy
godmothers, hovering in the peri-
 pheral, their incandescent wings
  thrumming quiet judgement. Well-
   bathed,   doused in lavender oils,
    draped     in blue silk, hair pinned
    in pearls,   neck adorned in jew-
    els, I can      still smell the embers
   that were       my only embrace for
    so long.         Waiting to wed my be-                         trothed, I can
    see my           stepsisters stand, unsmiling,            but  relieved,  freed
    from                their mother's plans by my good fortune. As I kiss my husband,
    I won-               der if I'll ever grow accustomed to decadence, if the linger-
     ing                       bitter taste of charcoal will ever leave me after years
     of                               soft living in this great castle — I hope not.

______________________

Author's Note: If the concrete image of this poem falls apart for some reason (if you're reading this on a mobile device, for example), I've attached a photo so you can see how it's meant to look.