Sleeping Beauties

Suzanne Morris

January 28, 2024

For years I gave no thought to Mama’s many pairs of shoes

stored on the long shelves of our big hall closet when I was growing up.

Then, while in Houston today I passed by the old Sakowitz Bros.

building, now a ghostly white marble shell

rising seven stories above the corner of Main and Dallas

its luxury first-floor show windows undressed and bare– 

I could see all the way through from the front to the rear

and watch the traffic speeding by on Fannin.

Long gone, the bright red awnings, the crisp American and Texas flags

snapping on diagonal poles on either side of the palatial front entrance 

and the stylish Sakowitz Bros. sign at the top that lit up red at night.

Gone, the plush-carpeted salons inside, deep and wide,

with tufted chairs, wall mirrors, crystal chandeliers, and

wafer-thin mannequins posed strategically in designer apparel.

Mama never set foot in Sakowitz 

but you would think she had from the

many pairs of shoes she purchased there.

Far exceeding the space in her small bedroom closet, shoes crowded out

sheet sets, pillow cases and various small appliances, 

swathed in softest tissue paper and secreted in their rectangular boxes

like rows of sleeping beauties deep in their swoon:

shiny black patent, suede, leather kid in shades of blue, red, gray, tan, green;

opera pumps, t-straps, slingbacks and savvy two-toned spectators.

Our elegant next-door neighbor worked in Women’s Shoes,

with its semi-circular red leather banquette overlooked by

an exotic jungle scene with extravagant

green palm leaves and ruby-throated flowers.

Twice a year during semi-annual sales, Mrs. Toler searched among

stock room shelves for size six-and-a-half quads

and personally delivered assorted pairs of

I. Millers, Andrew Gellers, Sakowitz signature brand and more

which Mama would hasten away to dreamland,

then close the chamber door.

When Mama died, 30 years ago, we donated her shoes to Goodwill.

Only today, as I paused to gaze upon the empty Sakowitz store

did I remember Mama’s sleeping beauties,

and start to wonder why she never roused a single pair

to slip them on and wear.

Suzanne Morris is a novelist and poet.  Her work is included in several poetry anthologies, most recently, Lone Star Poetry (Kallisto Gaia Press, 2022).  Her poems have appeared in The Texas Poetry Assignment, The New Verse News, Stone Poetry Quarterly, The Pine Cone Review, Emblazoned Soul Review, and Creatopia Magazine.  Ms. Morris lives in Cherokee County, Texas.