Poetry, Women Writers

Red Shoes

I stand in the ring

in the dead city

and tie on the red shoes

They are not mine,

they are my mother’s,

her mother’s before,

handed down like an heirloom

but hidden in shameful letters.

Anne Sexton

Fragments of words, broken phrases, missing places….some of you will recognize and know what is missing, others will read the simplicity of the stanzas and cry, “yeah, that’s me!”

Watch for the rest of the story.


3 thoughts on “Red Shoes”

  1. Yes, what’s here gives a totally different meaning. Kind of like life, right? Sometimes we get bits and pieces and we don’t see the whole picture. We take what we need and disregard the rest. That’s not necessarily wrong… depending.

    You’ve sparked my curiosity and I’m wondering what’s the rest of the story!

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