The Uncomfortable Heel, Or, The Private Ache

The air was thick with something sweet,

cloying, like too much cake.

I leaned against the wall, trying not to look

like I was watching, too closely,

all this forced joy. My own smile,

it felt stuck.

Then, under the table, near the DJ's throbbing bass,

the bride’s aunt, her face

a painted mask of congratulations,

gave a small, sudden heave.

And her shoe, that silver, sparkling thing,

flew off. Landed lopsided.

The strap twisted, a tiny neck broken.

For just a second, before she caught herself,

her mouth pulled flat. A grimace.

Of pure, quiet, animal relief.

The satin toe already frayed,

a small, silver scream, unheard,

under the linen cloth.

I know that feeling, I thought,

more than I know the vows.