July 6, 2011

• 14

  My secret left shoe

  doesn't come looking for me.

  It waits beneath my bed,

  waiting while I sleep

  to slip under an arch,

  to slide across a curve

  in a delicious fit.

  Meanwhile, I dream

  of dancing in a shoe

  and remember the danger

  of its exhilarating height

  throwing every step off balance

  and catching each fall in just the right way.

  I can wish and I can love

  but the sidewalks don't welcome me with

  only my dear left shoe,

  and I refuse to sit out.

  So it's put away

  for me to adore

  for me to feel on occasion

  but never for me to walk.

  • 12:31 am
  • 2 Comments