Shoe and Tell Under the illuminating eye of the Cyclops sky, Is a spotlight showing a scene from a story untold—a sequel: She parks her shoes at the bottom of once-barren beanstalk, now heavy with pareidolic budding branches, spiraling up and down, like a descending dragon and a scurrying squirrel. The slippers, satin and not-glass, are now soft and unbreakable retired vehicles of a tired maid. Each to her own, one facing East, the other ogling the moon. no longer working to impress with a perfect fit, No longer awaiting a foot-seeking prince And no longer that small. Wear and tear expands the stiffest leather, and calluses the thinnest skin. Roula-Maria Dib
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The Ekphrastic Review
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January 2021
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