CINDERELLA WEARS STILETTO HEELS

I stride onto his stage, heightened by Tango stiletto heels
A hand-embroidered, black-silk Spanish shawl
Draped below the shoulder line to reveal
A line of innocent winter flesh
An air of suspense, romance and high drama
Tango stiletto heels, Spanish shawl from the downtown Tango Emporium
Managed by a Tango icon who wore a beehive
Exudes class and style.

It is hard to be stylish
Balanced on a stiletto heel, taken aback
Push back. Forced to abandon, the Tango Ball
At midnight, hall darkened and lights dimmed low
I had to go.
No fanfare, no goodbye
Grabbed one shoe, was all I could
For he and she were now the pair.

Haste and hunger, they groped behind the scenes
He thought, maybe, I could not see?
Or, more likely, he did not care what was now, so plain to see
But if I was to be truly fair-
It was I who knew and chose not, to believe
She guzzles his homeland wine, her outstretched arm asks for more
Attention, affection, approval
He makes sure her glass is always full.

I smell her linger on his breath
As we dance, it is she, he solely craves
She brushes passed, stumbles slight, holds high her empty glass
She barely waits for him to finish her fill
And raises her glass, again, and again
Her eyes are glazed-
Ablaze. She guzzles, yet again
Until no drop remains.

She hiccups, leans on him
Her anchor, he smiles as she sways
Loving his part in this, his own tormented, Tango-play
Glazed, is he, and he too, now sways. Attempts to mask his pain
And moves on, to the next dance
Tango dance, which may, just one day strike a heavy blow
Watch them wax and wane, on the wooden floor
While I retreat to the kitchen and become Cinderella.

The clock strikes midnight on this, their night
I do not drink wine, his wine, their wine
Any wine. Dancers, drinkers, do not savour but
Waste fermented, valued drops
It’s a waste, to wallow and wash this pain away
In their hearts linger a deep, deep sorrow
Drown your sorrows
Only deepens the pain.

Clock chimes my cue to escape, to travel through time
Back to the vineyards, bathed in soft, subtle sunlight
Winemakers are patient, they value their art
Content to perfect, each sun-kissed drop
Step-by-step. For each nose, knows well
Love will not flow from a broken heart
There is no lament in the vineyard
No sorrow here.

Winemakers do not hide in black, darkened, back rooms
But tend to the land, renew the land, talk to the terroir
Listen to her lessons of life and love
And harvest the fruit of her vine
The vine hums and I hear now, her harmony
That make my feet dance
Balanced. My feet touch the soil that knows no lament
I learn to dance from the land’s own, perfumed wine.

This is a good year, a vintage year
The winemaker runs well-tempered soil through fingers
And I do the math
Measure, master and remeasure, ratio and recipe
To renew and re-invigorate change
The wine’s velvet-textured, nutty-fruit symphony coats my tongue
Tickles my throat, warms my heart
This moment, is the moment when love befriends me.

My heart opens, caressed by the living drop
Tapered, tendered by Earth’s timeless, loving hands
The Earth gives life to the grape
Tenderly, she gives love to those who connect with her spirit
A measure of sunlight, a light source of love that lasts
The winemaker gives his word to the land
Gives her his time
Love is perfect, perfectly measured, with time.
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