Cinderella in Ashes

Some days...

A council of skirts,

some thrown over fire,

keeping a low broiling

disenchantment at the ready;

others laced and twirling,

covered in matching aprons,

strings attached.

Mostly in between, wielding

power tools on street corners,

ignoring irony and chaffing

or arranging their lipstick while

choking on mother's pearls.

All of us wondering quietly

why it matters

what you wear while folding

stacks of cloth

over and over each other

and piling never ending glass

in neat

sparkling rows.