Joanna Gilman Hyde

"Good Morning, World!"

Tag: fairy tales

Cinderella In French

Cinderella was an artist

who cleaned out the kitty litter

every morning and every night.

She had no boyfriend

but got into trouble with the law

by texting her elderly estranged husband

for phone sex — text sex —

and stealing money from his wallet

to pay for it.


Her shoe size was 7 and a half.


For the whole time she poured out

a giant painting titled “American Bombshell”

on the floor of her basement

she dreamed of Prince Charming —

a lithe little leprechaun

the next town over

with whom she had shared

a magical moment

25 years earlier

and found she could love

no one else.


Cinderella would walk alone

the shores of her castle home

and converse sparingly with neighbours

who might have thought

she was a bit strange,

living by herself with 6 cats

in her high white house

litter-ally dripping with paint.


On one of her walks

she found a plastic Jack-o-lantern

and carried it all the way back

to put black glitter in its hollows

for eyes, nose and wild grin.


Cinderella had a Fairy Godmother

with jet black hair

who would wave her wand

of reason

and all of Cinderella’s fortitude

would emerge,

cajoled by her guardian’s

infectious laughter.

Her shoe size was 9.


Now at the end of April

there was to be a gala dance

to raise funds for the monolithic hospital

in the Western county over

but no one asked Cinderella for a date

so she decided

to just stay home

and paint another

cupboard door

with paint-shard applications

from her work titled:

“Stratospheric Universe”

blown apart

by a Christmas storm

to litter her yard

with slabs and chips

of hardened splashes

she could call her own.




The Hawk Kitchen 6:00pm

To the sound of Twelve Gongs of Midnight

Cinderella had to flee The Arms

of Her Prince

losing Her Gown, Her Carriage, Her Horses

& a Tiny Glass Slipper which remained


The Prince found The Tiny Glass Slipper

found Cinderella

& accepted Her, dressed or undressed

as The Woman of His Heart



The Hawk Queen Bed 9:02am

Snow White’s dwarfs

go off to work

mining gem stones

every morning

My Husband goes off

to The Salt Mines

of Humanity

& leaves Me to The House

The Cooking

& to My Awaited



The Hawk Family Room 7:50pm

Hey Black Box

I ain’t no Little Mermaid

Who gave Her Voice

to The Sea Witch

in exchange for a pair of legs

so She could walk

with every step agony

just to see Her Rescued Prince —

I ain’t no Fairy Tale Figure —

quit eatin’ at Me

get away from Me

You can sound like a man

but I don’t buy it —

You’re a piece of crap


I’ll never be friends with you

no matter how much you sweet-talk

you can go Fuck Yourself


The Hawk Deck 2:22pm

I was raised on an after-school diet

of fairy tales

listened to

on My Mother’s record player

with British accents I absorbed

the lamentations

of The Little Mermaid


Snow White

& Sleeping Beauty

& wrote in My First Adolescent Diary

“Could He Be The One?”


I Am Goldy Locks

eating @ My Glass Table

eating bananas & cereal

before donning My Glass Slippers

to trip about to find My Prince

(He’s Around Here Somewhere)

& I Won’t Grow Up

or If I Grow Up

I Have The Option

of reclining, ready

In My Glass Coffin

built by 7 Dwarves (Humours)

3 Bears (Instinct)

& 1 Fairy God Mother

(Atheist In Disguise)