I’d like to shift focus now and then by posting favorite poems by favorite poets. For my first post in this series, I’ve chosen my friend Margaret Van Every, who is someone adept at saying the most in the fewest number of words. Her work is always reflective, original and entertaining, with that small twist that is the reader’s reward.
Cinderella at Age 50
After years of crashing balls in borrowed slippers,
if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this:
men are like shoes.
Some you can break in, some you endure.
Those rigid as glass
you shed as you dash for the door.
Some you can live with, some you can’t.
Alas, we never know until we try them.
The shoes of my life have sorely disappointed me,
but ah, how good they looked and felt when new.
In the end they hobbled me, every one.
The closet’s full of them, barely worn.
Take wisdom, not heart, from this barefoot crone,
and shut your ears to ladies with wings;
If a prince comes calling with a shoe your size,
chances are slim it’ll fit tomorrow;
and the maid who accepts the pas de deux
suffers the dance in a crystal shoe.
––Margaret Van Every
Margaret Van Every writes poetry, short fiction, and nonfiction. She has authored three collections of poetry: the bilingual A Pillow Stuffed with Diamonds/Una Almohada Rellena con Diamantes (Librophilia) 2011; Saying Her Name (Librophilia) 2012; and holding hands with a stranger (Librophilia) 2014. She publishes widely in journals devoted to the ancient Japanese 5-line form known as tanka. In 2010 she moved to Ajijic, Jalisco, from Tallahassee, Florida, and is a founding member of the Not Yet Dead Poets Society.