Shoes and hands
 
He saw our shoes at the door,
Meer echoes of memory
Like everyone knows shoes are alive.
They grown with time,
Change colors with the seasons,
Can be storytellers,
Can be lairs,
Can be missed,
Or lost,
Or loved.
 
He saw our shoes
At the door but I,
on the other side
of reconciliation,
Standing like a small insect
Congealed in a drop
of molasses,
My heart as legs flailing,
My hands as
delicate wings trapped,
Numb over the knob.
 
Since you’ve gone
I stand still station,
My post and life.
Time lost whistling past ears,
Seasons change I see
But there colors mesh
And so stinking is there
Putrid brown.
 
I walk a line
Of pine
And think.
Under branches that bow
to the moon,
Obedient, and reverent.
They know.
I have missed you.

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gia frisco
almost 7 years

thankyou!

Cory Garcia
almost 7 years

A nice stroll through memories... you were able to evoke the readers own feelings and memories by setting the stage and detailing the surroundings while strolling along without to much detail to the circumstancesNicely done!

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