Worn Shoes

I remember when she threw her shoes into the fire.
They burned as she watched while laughing.
It never made sense at the time, but now I see.
They had no value, and they could have gone in the garbage, but it was about the detachment.
She carried those worn soles through a series of life changing events.
She learned what was forced upon her and now wanted to forget the pain.
The next morning she asked me, "Now what the hell do I wear?".  We did find other shoes, but the ashes of those sad days stayed on the terrace in the back yard. We moved out of that house over a year ago. I bet a garden grows there now.


Strutting in worn leather
bound to aching feet.
It cracks..
hardly gives
in any way
as I try to change my stride.
Walking in confidence
blisters.
Running away from sorrow
hardens.
Crawl toward
if there's uncertainty in my trust.
These shoes are too tight.
I've grown out of this bad habit..
still hoarding a favorite look.
A sad day for oppression..
tightly wrapped inside
a buckle with threads,
then hardly stepping outside of my head..
You will find me barefoot
at the clarity
of new days.