Poor Thing. To Die And Never See

It Doesn't Matter Who My Father Was; It Matters Who I Remember He Was.

The Windows, The Starving Windows That Drive The Trees Like Nails Into My Heart.

I Have Been Cut In Two.

I Find Now, Swallowing One Teaspoon Of Pain, That It Drops Downward To The Past Where It Mixes With Last Year’s Cupful And Downward Into A Decade’s Quart And Downward Into A Lifetime’s Ocean. I Alternate Treading Water And Deadman’s Float.

There Once Was A Miller With A Daughter As Lovely As A Grape. He Told The King That She Could Spin Gold Out Of Common Straw. The King Summoned The Girl And Locked Her In A Room Full Of Straw And Told Her To Spin It Into Gold Or She Would Die Like A Criminal. Poor Grape With No One To Pick. Luscious And Round And Sleek. Poor Thing. To Die And Never See Brooklyn. (rumpelstiltskin)