I saw a woman go into the coffee shop yesterday wearing tight blue jeans turned up at the bottom, a form fitted black T-shirt, and a pair of high-heeled, pointy-toed, ankle strapped red shoes. She looked radiant. I know it was the shoes. A woman could conquer the world in shoes like that.
When I was a child I wanted a pair of red shoes. I saw them at the shoe store, shiny red shoes with bows on the toes. I could have been a princess in those shoes. I could have been a ballerina. But my mother wouldn't buy them for me. "Only whores wear red shoes", she said.
My mother definitely bought shoes in the "stump-along-like-that" category, as in the following poem:
Frida Wolfe
Choosing Shoes
New shoes, new shoes,
Red and pink and blue shoes.
Tell me what would YOU choose
If they'd let us buy?
Buckle shoes, bow shoes,
Pretty pointy-toe shoes,
Strappy, cappy low shoes;
Let's have some to try.
Bright shoes, white shoes,
Dandy dance-by-night shoes,
Perhaps-a-little-tight shoes;
Like some? So would I.
BUT Flat shoes, fat shoes,
Stump-along-like-that-shoes,
Wipe-them-on-the-mat shoes
O that's the sort they'll buy.
The working girl in this poem must have taken off her red shoes:
e e cummings
raise the shade
will youse dearie?
rain
wouldn’t that
get yer goat but
we don’t care do
we dearie we should
worry about the rain
huh
dearie?
yknow
I’m
sorry for awl the
poor girls that
gets up god
know when every
day of their
lives
aint you,
oo-oo dearie
not so
hard dear
you’re killing me
