shirred at the chest, sequined at the bodice,
for once not minding this dress was worn by my oldest
sister, nor that I sported my mother’s plastic sandals
with the see-through high heels
that looked like Cinderella slippers.

I was the Cinderella of the house,
the third girl of a family
who only plugged for a son,
the one who stood on a telephone book
to iron the family clothes
because I didn’t know how to adjust
the spring doohickey
beneath the ironing board.

I was Queen of TV dinners
that I ate on a TV tray
while watching Lassie
on our black and white Zenith
with the rabbit ears antenna
that I jiggled to stop static.

But I was not sorry for myself.
I knew my prince would come
and it was you, my husband,
who took me to the prom
in my sister’s pink chiffon,
your hand on my sequined bodice
as we fox-trotted, your size thirteen shoes
stepping on my toes that stuck out
from my mother’s plastic sandals.
————

At 77 (soon to be 78) Rochelle Jewel Shapiro’s major goals are to be well-published (she already is) and to die laughing. (This can wait.) Her poems, stories, and essays have been published in The MacGuffin, Euphony, NYT (LIves), Empty Mirror, and more. She currently teaches writing at UCLA Extension. https://rochellejshapiro.com/ @rjshapiro