Tuesday, October 9, 2012

Before they were ruby

Ode to My Shoes

The poet alone
is writing an ode
to her shoes--
her shoes which
only she can fill,
her shoes of purple suede and green leather
the color of palm fronds,
her diamond-studded boots,
her feathered cowboy boots,
her seven-league epic poetry boots,
her little silver haiku boots,
with tiny heels that twinkle,
her first-person platform boots
and her backless glass slippers
modelled after Cinderella's
(one lost, at midnight,
because of a running man),
her huntress boots of India-rubber,
her lover's boots joined at the ankle
like leg irons,
her pink baby booties bronzed
for posterity,
her daughter's burning Reeboks,
her lover's laceless sneakers
left in the guest room closet
for her to kiss
year after year
after year.

Darling shoes,
beloved feet
ten toes to walk me
toward my true love,
fuck-me pumps to fuel his passion
stiletto heels to stab him
if he strays.

Shoes tell you everything.
Shoes speak my language.
Their tap tap tap on the airport runway
tells me the story
of a lovely, lonely woman flying after love--
That old, old story
in a new pair
of shoes. 

(Photo of a collage made for me by a friend)

Did you know that the Ruby Reds are heading to London to be part of an exhibition at the Victoria and Albert Museum?  They will click their heels and return to The Smithsonian on 21 November 2012 - let's hope they're not intercepted by any Flying Monkeys!

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