Red shoes are hushed-up woman-secrets ―
stilettos, lace-up sandals, ballerina flats,
garden muck-outs, ankle boots, fur-trimmed booties,
toeless pumps, running shoes, sneakers
in closets, scuffed like promises.
Tipping a pair of red shoes, girls dance,
prance, romance. The vain fairy tale
princess craved red shoes. She got them.
They danced at her mother’s funeral
and drove her insane.
Laugh at the lowly pigeon hen,
strutting the curb, seeking cooing from her cuddles.
She’s a grand wannabe girl on parade,
waddling on tiny red feet.
The little old lady on the bench
tossing dry crusts wears red shoes too.
By Tricia Knoll
Tricia Knoll is a poet from Portland, Oregon, USA. Her recent books are Broadfork Farm about a small organic farm in Trout Lake, Washington, and Ocean’s Laughter, a book of lyric and eco-poetry about Manzanita, Oregon. Her book, Urban Wild, is available from Finishing Line Press. Visit her at her website: triciaknoll.com and on Twitter: @triciaknollwind.
Photo of pigeon by Jakub Gojda