Slipper

its cut is for glory
its opaline shine
it's part of the story


like a tuning fork chime
you're taught to accede to it
make it your own


even to bleed for it
this far from home.
But something inside you


noting the hour
suddenly knows that it's not in your power
to wear it in style


at the cost of your dreams
to be as it orders you
all that it seems


so the slipper comes off
as if telling you so
this is, my dear, what you're


destined to know
far better to walk with your feet unimpeded
than to buy at this price


a fake kingdom so deeded
then it's back to the ashes
and down with the sash


of the window that opened;
the sorrow that gashed.


mary angela douglas 27 april 2020