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Cinderella Tea Party
at the Edwardian Tea Shoppe

Cinderella party





i watch them with envy,
all the little girls as they
pirouette in their long,
dress-up skirts and mommy’s
high-heeled shoes; the tiara
from someone’s senior prom
resting atop their beautiful
heads like a crown; tripping
on skirt hems as they prance
to and fro with the grace of
a new-born baby calf.

they watch themselves in the
mirror, unashamedly impressed
by their own beauty, free of the
unhealthy need to compare
themselves to one another,
content to be who they are.
and i know if i look closely
i’ll see Prince Charming
standing there behind them
in their reflection, handsome,
resplendent, and perfect.

They are in a world set apart
for young dreamers.
Cinderellas one and all dressed
and ready for the ball.

I know that world, I remember
it well — super heroes and pirates,
damsels and dragons — and the
pink plastic ballerina with the net
tutu in my jewelry box reflected
in the beveled mirror — to be
just like her the unspoken desire
of my heart.

yes, i know that world,
but i cannot go there anymore,
because, you see, losing Cinderella
is the price one pays for growing up.