They practically scream her name the minute she walks in.
The shine, the glitter calling her over. Her little face wide open to the delight before her.
She hadn’t yet imagined this possibility, but now it is right before her.
And she hopes.
Yet, she is pulled in another direction, the one of her mothers.
The adults speak; something about size, colour, season.
Odd things really, she thinks in her little mind now filled with sparkles.
She sits, boxes appear.
Her bare foot ready, poised for dressing.
Dressing up in all the fantasies of a little girl.
Ready to dance and skip and fly.
But, her mother doesn’t know about these dreams.
She has reasons, errands and more to do. Always more.
The shoes are bought, they fit well.
They do not sparkle.
As they leave the shop,
The mother says something about “practical”
The little girl doesn’t know what this means,
but is quite sure it doesn’t sparkle.
Footnote: This piece was written a few years ago during my daughter’s sparkly phase. She no longer likes sparkles. Perhaps I write this as a confession, I think I may be responsible for de-sparking her. It’s a heavy burden.