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灰姑娘

Anne Sexton – Cinderella
You always read about it:
the plumber with the twelve children
who wins the Irish Sweepstakes.
From toilets to riches.
That story.

Or the nursemaid,
some luscious sweet from Denmark
who captures the oldest son's heart.
from diapers to Dior.
That story.

Or a milkman who serves the wealthy,
eggs, cream, butter, yogurt, milk,
the white truck like an ambulance
who goes into real estate
and makes a pile.
From homogenized to martinis at lunch.

Or the charwoman
who is on the bus when it cracks up
and collects enough from the insurance.
From mops to Bonwit Teller.
That story.

Once
the wife of a rich man was on her deathbed
and she said to her daughter Cinderella:
Be devout. Be good. Then I will smile
down from heaven in the seam of a cloud.
The man took another wife who had
two daughters, pretty enough
but with hearts like blackjacks.
Cinderella was their maid.
She slept on the sooty hearth each night
and walked around looking like Al Jolson.
Her father brought presents home from town,
jewels and gowns for the other women
but the twig of a tree for Cinderella.
She planted that twig on her mother's grave
and it grew to a tree where a white dove sat.
Whenever she wished for anything the dove
would drop it like an egg upon the ground.
The bird is important, my dears, so heed him.

Next came the ball, as you all know.
It was a marriage market.
The prince was looking for a wife.
All but Cinderella were preparing
and gussying up for the event.
Cinderella begged to go too.
Her stepmother threw a dish of lentils
into the cinders and said: Pick them
up in an hour and you shall go.
The white dove brought all his friends;
all the warm wings of the fatherland came,
and picked up the lentils in a jiffy.
No, Cinderella, said the stepmother,
you have no clothes and cannot dance.
That's the way with stepmothers.

Cinderella went to the tree at the grave
and cried forth like a gospel singer:
Mama! Mama! My turtledove,
send me to the prince's ball!
The bird dropped down a golden dress
and delicate little slippers.
Rather a large package for a simple bird.
So she went. Which is no surprise.
Her stepmother and sisters didn't
recognize her without her cinder face
and the prince took her hand on the spot
and danced with no other the whole day.

As nightfall came she thought she'd better
get home. The prince walked her home
and she disappeared into the pigeon house
and although the prince took an axe and broke
it open she was gone. Back to her cinders.
These events repeated themselves for three days.
However on the third day the prince
covered the palace steps with cobbler's wax
and Cinderella's gold shoe stuck upon it.
Now he would find whom the shoe fit
and find his strange dancing girl for keeps.
He went to their house and the two sisters
were delighted because they had lovely feet.
The eldest went into a room to try the slipper on
but her big toe got in the way so she simply
sliced it off and put on the slipper.
The prince rode away with her until the white dove
told him to look at the blood pouring forth.
That is the way with amputations.
They just don't heal up like a wish.
The other sister cut off her heel
but the blood told as blood will.
The prince was getting tired.
He began to feel like a shoe salesman.
But he gave it one last try.
This time Cinderella fit into the shoe
like a love letter into its envelope.

At the wedding ceremony
the two sisters came to curry favor
and the white dove pecked their eyes out.
Two hollow spots were left
like soup spoons.

Cinderella and the prince
lived, they say, happily ever after,
like two dolls in a museum case
never bothered by diapers or dust,
never arguing over the timing of an egg,
never telling the same story twice,
never getting a middle-aged spread,
their darling smiles pasted on for eternity.
Regular Bobbsey Twins.
That story.
怀念那段跟小糖,小洛,NANCY一起给灰姑娘写续的日子。
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6 responses

  1. sheep

    SF,好长,没看懂

    三月 26, 2008 @ 12:08 下午

  2.  
     
    哈哈哈哈 我可逮着fun了~ 虎妞 peace~!
     
     
     

    三月 26, 2008 @ 7:34 下午

  3. Cathy

    is it a poesm or lyric?

    三月 26, 2008 @ 9:21 下午

  4. Jun

    WOW~~~ NICE

    三月 28, 2008 @ 9:46 上午

  5. nancy

    我更怀念那时的我们。
     
    日子管它是哪年哪月,我怀念我们对彼此有期许有热情的年代。有时怀念得太专心,忘了好多事其实是我们自己亲手放开。
    也许是T-Mobile 和AT&T 有仇, 也许是NY和LA的时差捉弄人, 也许是一个黑白城市和一个彩色城市只能酝酿不交集的灵魂,总之,我们彼此错过。我们早已不是曾经的我们。
     
    幸好那些过去,偶尔心情低落的时候可以拿来救急,物似人非了但至少曾经有过那样的日子。着实一大碗热腾腾的心灵鸡汤,只不过是虚拟的。也还是管些用。我也知道用不着总拿某一年寝室天花板上的荧光字说事儿,很幼稚。我只是想珍惜,如果老了想起过去我会觉得很充实。
     
    亲爱的,提早祝你生日快乐。
     
     

    三月 29, 2008 @ 4:17 下午

  6. 同一

    刚刚结束一天的工作,路:生日快乐!
    2008年4月2日夜

    四月 2, 2008 @ 10:00 上午

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