We didn’t really live in a shoe… but in a crumbling cottage.
I’m not old… but poverty has made me bitter and grey.
It’s true though… I had too many children and didn’t know what to do.
Their pestiferous pleadings… grimy hands tugging at my skirt, always needing something from me…
On my husband’s sickbed, I sobbed.
“You promised me a castle… Promised me the moon…”
I used a pillow to hasten his death.
They drank it with such voracity— stepmother’s broth laced with pesticide.
I kissed them soundly and for the last time, put the little pests to bed.