Dina Greenberg

Sensible Shoes

A pretty, blonde-haired woman
slides into town,
orders a latte at Starbucks
and talks to no one In particular.

Teetering
on flimsy, high-heeled sandals
she vanishes through the side door,
then reappears, so close (I feel her hemunraveling)
to where I sit
sipping judiciously this morning's portion of doubt.

She comes and goes
a succession of rapid movements
lasting seconds or days
wearing a lovely but impossibly out-of-season dress.

One day, I find myself
looking for her just to see
which one of us looks crazier.

In my sturdy Tevas
I pass my reflection In all the shop windows
and something in me shakes loose and rattles a bit
before it hits the pavement.

Maybe moments,
later,
She stands in a doorway,
A pair of cowboy boots on her feet,

red ones,
red like the half-moon of lipstick on her white cup,
     red like a carnival at the edgeof town.

 

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Dina Greenberg is a freelance writer and a student at the University of Pennsylvania. She lives in Haddonfield, New Jersey with her husband, Robert and their daughter, Alyssa, who was a published poet before her mom.

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