She slipped to trip
her slipper fell--
it found its light
a wishing well
of painted days
that dreamed of night;
Cinderella's midnight flight.
Time sped so fast
her eyes lost sheen
her focus dazed
became unclean
in dreams forgotten
one by one
as childhood lines
became undone.
Each finger filtered
two by four
and every day
they added more
to find her path
and pin her to
the place where
Mother
tied her shoe.
Was she the one
who missed the loop
who led her from
that friendly group
to stand in sand
behind the shed
where toes
lost shoes
and socks
instead;
instead of marching
up the hill
far from the ones
who said:
"be still"
her laces tied
her shoes on tight
where morning sang
and sun was bright?
Pamela A. Lamppa
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