Pamela den Ouden
In the back of the closet
White satin shoes
Rest in peace.
Worn once, never again
(Though I said I’d dye them black to justify the price)
They have gathered the dust of years
Their lustre lost to a greying dullness
I unzip the plastic bag and hold the shoe
The scent of roses floats in the air
I am Cinderella with the glass slipper
I wedge my foot into the mouth of the shoe
But with age my foot has splayed
Bones have bent
I have become the older step-sister.