Cinderella by Catrin Mari

A large tree in the middle of green woodland. Large white text reads: Cinderella. Smaller text reads: Discussing disabled characters in fairy tales and folklore.

They insist that her place is where soot sweeps the flagstones. Her limbs wince and grimace
all the way down the stairs. She can see them preening,
smug as ostriches;
But her fingers are still stiff, and
jewel-less.
As their excitement chirps louder, her swollen toes chime in the garden. And suddenly
there’s a sharp frisson of something in the air. She’s fizzing as if she were inside a coupe
glass, clinking against the promise of the glass-topped dressing table.
In her tight chest, excitement swells pumpkin, until
under the glitz of champagning chandeliers, she cuts a more confident stride.
In satin, she steps, and steps, until she’s a whirl of silvered windows, pearly;
yet threatening as teeth.
At the strike, she’s
seared
panicked
clenched.
She’s slipped
Down
Down
Down
Once again, her squeaking companions brush at the floor. Her ankles throb and ache
as loud as her heart.

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About the author: 
I'm an autistic social researcher based in Cardiff with a passion for heritage and museums. I also live with chronic eczema. I use poetry to engage people with research, and I am inspired by connections between artists and their work as well as interpreting well-known histories and stories from fresh perspectives, or uncovering under-appreciated historic figures and the tales they can tell.