Mrs Black wore shoes of every colour With bracelets and handbags to match. Permed hair bouncing through school, she sang her way down wooden floors, her painted smile the opener of hearts and doors.
"Dance, prance, twist and twirl, tring-a-ling"
Our mother never dressed like Mrs Black, but wardrobe-hunting revealed, tucked behind trainered rows, stilettos, shiny red and green. A whirl of sticky fingers fastening buckles, we were suddenly sisters of all the lipsticked long-nail ladies ever seen.
"Twizzle and circle and turn, tring-a-ling"
Teetering steps in mummy’s heels led us to rooms of smoking men with jokes we didn’t understand, so we laughed whenever they laughed, wriggled under tickling hands, tottered under shifting eyes, proud to join those games that adults play.
"Oopsadaisy, we all fall down, tring-a-ling"
Funny then, that I should stand here today in this room of waiting shoes and not know how to choose, chasing all that we lost the day that child- hood ended in the tying up of straps.
"Up and away goes the girl, tring-a-ling"
If the way you ask leaves no choice if you use the right kind of voice I will be your Mrs Black. Heeled, I will pose, prance, strut and twirl but inside I will be quietly curling into twists of tight unknowing like the little girl that Sunday afternoon stumbling into the grownups room.
Mami Heels me sugiere mucho
ResponderEliminarmás cada vez
me parece maravillosa.
Un beso,
x
Mami heels
ResponderEliminarMrs Black wore shoes of every colour
With bracelets and handbags to match.
Permed hair bouncing through school,
she sang her way down wooden floors,
her painted smile the opener of hearts
and doors.
"Dance, prance, twist and twirl, tring-a-ling"
Our mother never dressed
like Mrs Black, but wardrobe-hunting
revealed, tucked behind trainered rows,
stilettos, shiny red and green. A whirl
of sticky fingers fastening buckles,
we were suddenly sisters of all the
lipsticked long-nail ladies ever seen.
"Twizzle and circle and turn, tring-a-ling"
Teetering steps in mummy’s heels
led us to rooms of smoking men
with jokes we didn’t understand, so
we laughed whenever they laughed,
wriggled under tickling hands, tottered
under shifting eyes, proud to join
those games that adults play.
"Oopsadaisy, we all fall down, tring-a-ling"
Funny
then, that I should stand here today
in this room of waiting shoes and
not know how to choose, chasing
all that we lost the day that child-
hood ended in the tying up of straps.
"Up and away goes the girl, tring-a-ling"
If
the way you ask leaves no choice
if you use the right kind of voice
I will be your Mrs Black. Heeled,
I will pose, prance, strut and twirl
but inside I will be quietly curling
into twists of tight unknowing like
the little girl that Sunday afternoon
stumbling into the grownups room.
"Dance, prance, twist and twirl, tring-a-ling"
S.
"S" ahora tiene un blog:
ResponderEliminarwww.sas.explore-the-world.net