Kathleen Kaska
Page Fifty-Two
On my writing desk sets a tiny red shoe,
a gift from a friend who reads my pages
and encourages me to keep going,
to take the next step and not look back.
I dangle the shoe from a gold thread.
The light reflects on its glossy surface.
I see a style too sexy for me, a tart shoe
that surely belongs to another woman.
A vintage design from the forties,
with a fruit tassel on the toe.
Too fine to stow away in my attic trunk,
so it joins me on my trip back in time.
Images of Carmen Miranda flash and
soon I'm in Buenos Aires dancing
the Cha Cha with ANTONIO BANDERAS
and sipping martinis like water.
Or I buckle the strip around my ankle
and smooth my seamed-stockings before I
stoll into Rick's American Bar
for I find myself in Morocco,
a woman alone in an exotic world,
a world wrapped around my finger,
a finger that points to an empty stool,
a stool reserved just for me.
The red shoe, a literary inspiration,
takes me to exotic places where I bring back
a bit of intrigue to add to page fifty-two.
© copyright Kathleen Kaska 2005