Base Camp Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

they like the ozone and the high altitudes
wept Cinderella; not for the first time.
I'm too weary to climb, to fetch, to mend

what they send down to me
so I pretend I've something grand to do
in the afternoon

and so, prepare myself
by dreaming of peacocks
and the land they live in.
when will you give in
my sisters say
if they say anything at all

and understand
you'll never be
what we are.

and they are dancing on a distant star
and glittering so hard
while I wile away each hour

dreaming I'm just a flower
with nothing to do but bloom.

mary angela douglas 25 june 2016