When will I be good enough for you
to love? Shall I
weave thistles
into clothes? Turn
straw to gold
enough ransom to buy back your favor?
There are fables enough of wicked
parents-mostly mothers. Stories
peopled with forlorn children-mostly daughters- the purer
their hearts the more dire the circumstance.
Maybe if fathers told the stories- some fathers-
instead of mothers, the daughters
would all be safe long before the necessary evils
threatened.
Mothers adore happy endings, morality
plays, coated salty and sweet.
All’s well that ends well enough.
My story. It’s too
sad. There is never
a happy ending. It
only begins.
Once she had a father.
And then,
it ends.
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