Little girl with the jet-black hair,

with the white skin and red lips

(a veritable Snow White)

– with a wicked sense of humor, 

and dark irony behind all your couth phrases.

Little girl with the tiny porcelain figure,

little girl in your glass castle

high on a hill. 

And your stark livelihood, 

subsisting solely on your father’s income

(must be tough). 

Little over/underprivileged Miss,

with the anger gleaming out of your eyes

– manifesting itself in the gestures of your fingers. 

As you light a cigarette,

little princess,

hating your palace but unable to fend for yourself.

You knew, when you bit through the skin – 

you knew that apple was poison. 

• 2004