PenWomanShip

Who knows
if it was a whim
or a heartfelt need
or what it meant
to keep the red plastic shoes
with fake emeralds,
turquoise and diamonds
tightly strapped
to her eight-year-old feet.
Those shoes walked
on the firm sand of the shore,
slid on damp grass,
lifted in military cadence
to the sound
of some unseen drum.
Without those shoes
tucked under her bed
the child woke in sobs
during the night.
With them near
her fingers trailed
over cheap plastic, glass jewels
and she slept.