by Melinda Thomsen

I was raised by Cinderella
souls whose high arched
feet fit into glass slippers.

Those extra narrow sized shoes
I wore looked like Barbie
accessories, not the medium

widths I wear now after years
of retail sales and teaching
in New York. Then, I wore kitten

heels, which pinched my toes
inside the shoes’ pointy
vamps until my nails bled.

After parties, my shoes came off,
and I swung my Barbie shoes
at my side. Like a mangled umbrella

fluttering after the storm,
I walked home on Third Avenue
with toes boring through my stockings.

I only looked ruined.