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.
The Ekphrastic Review
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