she still believes in fairytales
and watches through the window for her
Prince Charming.

she dances in the rain, and drinks in the sky’s offering
bare arms spinningspinningspinning
opening like the smell of sweet toffee as her toes
taptaptap
against the wet cobblestones
and her slender,
snow-white
ankles cross over and
over again.
they glow, paler than the moonlight against
the dark, stormsong-filled night.

when she tires, she curls up beneath her
palace
of mattress slats and plastic skylight.
she eats the stale dinner roll like
it’s the finest of
italian imports.

she pulls up to her chin
the Sleeping Beauty blanket
the faded pink to her
the brightest
of fushias,
even though in places
you can see fraying edges and the
crisscrossing
of individual threads.

wistfully,
she watches the cashier boy
as he takes long, beautiful strides around the
record store
and the lights blink out one by one.

then she closes her eyes
and waits for tomorrow.
because she still believes in
fairytales.