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The Mystery of Persons

Sheaves of paper tucked in fists,
they war with wording, write scripts
that might be harvest:
themes contrasting versions
of Cinderella. None sees
how the tale has formed her,
if she will marry and grow rich,
he conquer as prince charming.
Grace submerged like coins in mud,
years may pass before they shine.
Tales unravel before the teller,
the girl both orphan and woman,
mysterious as Scheherazade.

Note: This poem originally appeared in The Louisiana Review.