<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The Red Shoes<\/strong><\/p>\n Never danced with a boy. The woodcutter smiled to see me; No feet.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Sue Finch<\/strong> is studying for a Creative Writing MA at MMU. Her first published poem appeared in A New Manchester Alphabet<\/em> in 2015. She lives in Flintshire with her wife where she enjoys exploring the countryside and coast.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" The Red Shoes Never danced with a boy. Wanted to. Couldn\u2019t flirt and risk the invitation. No rhythm. No chance. I imagined the red shoes would do the trick. Too impatient to save (Twelve weeks an eternity to me) I distracted him; the Saturday boy whose hands fumbled for bags, whose fingers […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[135,7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-12262","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-2016-poetry-picks","category-prose-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12262","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=12262"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12262\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":12264,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12262\/revisions\/12264"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=12262"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=12262"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=12262"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nWanted to.
\nCouldn\u2019t flirt and risk the invitation.
\nNo rhythm. No chance.
\nI imagined the red shoes would do the trick.
\nToo impatient to save (Twelve weeks an eternity to me)
\nI distracted him; the Saturday boy
\nwhose hands fumbled for bags,
\nwhose fingers mishit the keys of the cash register.
\nHe struggled to fetch the next pair
\nand the next
\nas I feigned tightness in the width,
\na squashed left little toe,
\na desire for a heel,
\na want for a bow.
\nThe scarlet pair hugged my feet.
\nI felt the urge to stand and jig.
\nMy stomach flipped, I had to swallow a smile.
\n\u201cI like these\u2019\u201d I told him, \u201cBut wonder
\nwould black be more appropriate?\u201d
\nHe withheld a sigh and readied himself for the ladder.
\n\u201cTop shelf,\u201d he mumbled as he stood to fetch them.
\nHalfway up the ladder
\nI laughed and left.
\nHad to grip my belly to hold myself together
\nas the chuckles came and came.
\nMy feet spent their energy;
\na jig, a reel, a reel, a jig
\nI danced smiling at my new beat.
\nI roared as I polka-ed
\nmy lungs grabbed for the air.
\nReeling, reeling,
\nI could not find the oxygen within my breaths.<\/p>\n
\nleaned back to enjoy the one woman show
\n\u201cNo, no, no!\u201d I panted in horror. \u201cIt\u2019s the shoes!\u201d
\nHe stepped behind me
\nresorting to an imitation of my steps to keep time with me.
\nI wanted to laugh at the big booted feet dancing with me;
\nCartooning each step;
\ncaring enough not to step on the hated shoes.
\nI could only weep.
\nHe held me.
\nI trembled the rhythm of my legs.
\nOffered him one foot, one shoe.
\nHe gripped,
\nyet his giant hands could not master the vice-like leather.
\nHe pushed my shoulders away in horror.
\nI danced to his axe.
\nShocked him sick when I struck:
\nOne foot, two feet.<\/p>\n