Shoes at my feet

I stood in the crowd
amid pants and dresses,
black suits,
white pants,
cocktail dresses,
evening gowns,
that scenario.

My head feels heavy
full of pins and frills
my face feels stiff
painted with a smile
graceful moves
walking serenely
up to the very tip
of my stilettos

From there
I walked
I waltzed
I carried my blistered foot
I never sat
I danced
I curtsied
fancy that, for a girl like me.

I saw something
underneath the
blanket of stars.
How I wish I could go there
How I wish I could run
How I wish I could show
the shoes at my feet.


-July 3, ‘08