Page 123 of The Black Flamingo

---

for me: black with a lace pattern,

four inches, manageable I think.

I’m terrified of what the lady

in the shop will think when

I ask to try them on. Will they

even have them in my size?

“Size seven, yes, of course,”

she casually replies. “Just these?”

They fit perfectly in the shop

but I didn’t practice walking,

relieved no one made fun of me,

no one looked at me oddly.

I took them off and to the counter,

paid for them, and left quickly.

Every evening in my room,

instead of socializing, I practice

walking in my new heels.

I play songs by Rihanna,

Nicki Minaj, and Queen Bey,

try to channel fierce femininity.

I turn to my poster of Beyoncé

and blow her a kiss.

Mum calls me every day

to tell me she misses me,

ask me about my day,

and tell me about her day.

Mostly, I have little to say

but she is never lost for words.

She complains about work

and Anna’s latest antics,

---