lipstick feet
as a child she would have
given just about anything
for shoes like this
bright red
almost indecently so
flat but dainty
somewhat impractical
in the rain
she can hear her mother’s voice
the wise counsel
that was the soundtrack of her youth
what d’you want something like that for
they’ll only scuff and pinch your feet
it makes her feel rebellious
and out comes the purse
can’t wait to try to them out
take them for a test spin
walks to the shops
buoyantly
a slight spring in her step
proud of her shiny new shoes
hobbles back
of course
blisters on her feet
red angry welts
as if the colour had rubbed off
smudged like the lipstick
that other girls’ mothers wore
Frances Jackson is originally from the northwest of England, but now lives in Bavaria. Her translations and poetry have appeared or are forthcoming in places such as B O D Y, Nine Muses Poetry, The Missing Slate and Your Impossible Voice.
atriumpoetry.com 