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Pamela den Ouden

In the back of the closet

White satin shoes

Rest in peace.

Worn once, never again

(Though I said Iā€™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.

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