Dated 10/31/1934, this may have been written after Evelyn’s heart condition condemned her to dance no more.
White Sandal
White sandal, weather-beaten, blurred with age,
What dainty foot was bound in your sheer walls?
What tracings have you limned upon the page
Of waving sands and starry, wooded halls?
With melancholy thud, your instep falls
Into a rubbish heap. Your blackened face
And tarnished bow are sympathetic calls
To blither days. Those slender strands of lace
Could not combat a modern maiden’s dancing pace!
Evelyn Coffey
Evelyn was an avid flea-market shopper, a frequenter of the second-hand stores that were common in our working-class neighborhood. she told us that this poem was about a pair of sandals she had purchased, or perhaps more accurately rescued and brought home. It was typical of her reverence - her entering in the dream of each thing that eventually filled every surface of her apartment. There was life in everything. This poem is just a hint of that.
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