i.
she puts delicate fairy wings in her armoire, long fingers
grazing the hardened silk threads that weave
the colorless wings;
doesn’t forget to place the (un)glamorous silver tiara in the
drawers and her dulled glass shoes in the darkened corner
of her closet;

ii.
she trips carefully over the corner of the carpet that lay
in her room and smiles at herself
in the mirror and traces the
invisible scars that reflect on the cracked surface and
kisses her dusty fingers with love;

iii.
she spins and spins until she falls dizzily onto the neatly made
bed, long hair spilled onto yellowed sheets and laughs
at the spinning red and white that decorate the ceiling;
then sits up and remembers her fairytale tucked away in
armoire and drawer and closet;
closes her eyes and sees in her mind the black and white of the
delicate fairy wings and realizes that
maybe it was a(n) (un)fairytale after all.

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