She consults the mirror:
A bird with Persian plumage.
Her wings have languished lately.
She may be penniless but she's still fanciful
and beautiful as Old Manhattan. Her uptown
shoes are exotically tattered: dusty gold pumps
- the exact shade of her eyeshadow -
with shoebox residue and dented toes from
countless mishaps. Oh, the miles she covered
in those heels!
Her face may be pale and subdued but
her gown is a circus of mercurial rubies,
shimmering in the recollection of the
notoriety it once shared with a feather mantle
- long lost, alas.
That dime was her undoing.
What a vixen you are, darling.
She thanks the mirror;
It takes so little to make one feel
like an empress.
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