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in fairy tales

there was girl named for a star
fair and small, she grew and twinkled
always like a jewel: saphires, rubies
and diamonds most of all she loved .
astrid sparkled in the morning
and at night.

her mother loved her and took care
that nothing hurt fair astrid
for she was lovely and unique,
a mind full of words and books
a fairy tale princess who lived in a tower,
the miller’s daughter, cinderella,
all the roles of the world
lived in her heart.

she grew and grew and finally
had to leave for the city
to study all by herself.

early she rarely rose, for time
she needed for dreams and thought,
high theatre she loved for there
the characters acted and spoke
bold and great and complicated
just like in her very own thoughts.

but there disappointment
first struck when she found out,
in life, these lofty players,
drink too much and curse,
are normal folk with
ex-girlfriends and wives
and carburators to fix.

so she thought a poet might be nice
full of passion and fury, deeply romantic,
lively debate and profound talk,
but poets neglect always the garbage
to take out and personal hygiene.
our shiny astrid, ever so clean and twinkling,
dirty floors and sheets could not abide.

then the ballet struck. dancers
so noble and tall upon the stage,
surely they must know something
of the ineffable, these sylvan creatures
and graceful men, she hoped.
but even one night of their dull conversation
for sparkly astrid was too much. i’m bored
she thought and went home to her tomes
of long dead thinkers and troubadors.

fancy clothes and fashion
astrid often adorned and she gleamed
so bright in the dark that to nightclubs
she was often called, by friends
good and bad, invited to test drugs
but astrid felt too wild with just blood
in her veins – she had the sense to say, no –
i will go again to the theatre then.

and round and round she turned
fair astrid and twinkled on every side
and slow and sadly learned,
the only real princes, in fairy tales live.

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