When I was small I rarely left
The closet where I’d skid,
Like a carriage, right to left,
Around the homework that I did,
My future self a note
In the fading dungeon light
Which I wrote and then rewrote
And backspaced through the night.
I kept to a routine
Inside my dark cocoon,
As the keys of my machine
Swept the alcove like a broom.
I lived inside that room, alone,
And hid myself inside this poem.
"Cinderella" by Tia Laurent. Reproduced with permission of the author.