I think of nothing when I sweep the hearth,
nothing except the ash
that shifts and trembles, like breath
made visible by cold, or bird-swarms,
diving and rising smokily, at sunset.
And when I scour the tiles, my mind
is empty. Only, my eyes await
my own reflection, which slowly floats up
from the sheeny surface, emerging
whitely, froth on a dark mill race.
In sleep, my heart is full.
Not, as you think, with dreams
of princes, gowns of thistledown,
my mother's funeral rites,
childhood companions.
I dream of the guillotine,
its shining blade, falling so swiftly,
sweetly down down down,
your fat face goggle-eyed and disbelieving.
You're cleaved as cleanly, crisply, as an apple.
Cinderella by Kitty Coles | Sandalwood Poetry Reed Diffuser
Kitty Coles lives in Surrey and works for a charity supporting young carers. Her poems have been widely published and she has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, the Forward Prize and Best of the Net. Her debut pamphlet Seal Wife (2017) was joint winner of the Indigo Dreams Pamphlet Prize and her first collection, Visiting Hours was published in 2020.
