What Children Ask of Fairytales

As if changing weather
Could be the real, worthy
Subject, it starts to rain

In the desert, the first
Steady, thunderstorm-free
Rain for months. Odd planet,

Condensed stone to the core
But with a gaseous
Atmosphere, not barren,

But not a world of clouds.
Goldilocks, you call it,
Silly porridge. You know

You’re not the little girl,
Not even Baby Bear.
Many orbits from now

You will be subducted
Back into molten core
Like any continent.

In the meantime, what’s left
In the bowl, how much dust
Sticks to the shelves, whose bed

Is unmade, and what would
Goldilocks have done if
Bears chased her through hard rain?