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Posts Tagged ‘shoes’

Tonight I Remember

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on November 16, 2023| 18 Comments »

how he resisted learning
to tie his own shoes,
how I cheered
when he learned
to pinch the laces
between his fingers,
knotting and looping
and pulling them tight,
making a bow
that would stay.
How I encouraged
the very thing
that allowed him
to walk away.
Oh, sweet woman
I was then,
beginning to learn
letting go.
Now that he’s gone,
I’m a student
of being loosened,
untied, undone,
still practicing
how to let him go.

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Sisu

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on November 28, 2021| 8 Comments »


Sisu is a Finnish word that describes the Finns. It refers to grit, determination and bravery in the face of obstacles and a willingness to keep going when others would give up.


Superman had his flowing red cape
and Ironman had his red armor,
but my father had
his black wingtip shoes
with one heel built taller
than the other to accommodate
the different lengths of his legs.
He wore them to church,
to the store, to fish, to dialysis.
He slogged in them through puddles
and trampled through slush
and shuffled behind his walker.
He wore them with suits.
He wore them with sweats.
He wore them with blue hospital gowns.

In Finland, when things get difficult,
they say, Eteenpäin sanoi mummo lumessa—
Forward, said the granny in the snow.
And damn, did my dad move forward,
despite deep drifts of pain
that for decades crippled his body.
Though every step hurt, he persisted.

And so, when I carry his shoes to the trash,
I thank them for bearing the weight of his suffering,
and I choke on the sobs that rise.
Thank you, I say. Dad, you’re my hero.
With reverence, I drop the shoes into the bin.

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Wonder

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , on April 19, 2021| 4 Comments »

I wear my wonder
like old running shoes—
not elegant,
not sophisticated,
surprisingly inappropriate
in certain rooms. 
I notice how others 
sometimes wrinkle their noses
at a blatant sporting of wonder, 
thinking, perhaps, I must be oblivious
to the dress code:
stilettos of apathy,
high heels of indifference,
boots of cool reserve. 
But dang, this wonder
gets me where I need to go
every inch, 
every mile, even 
across the room.
When everywhere I step
is broken glass,
wearing this wonder
is the only reason
I can move at all.

published in ONE ART: A journal of poetry

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Making Breakfast with Dolly

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on December 15, 2020| Leave a Comment »

Tonight I read

that Dolly Parton

always wears

high heel shoes

in her kitchen.

“Don’t you?”

she asks.

I don’t.

I wear old brown

wool slippers.

With orthotics.

I try to imagine myself

strutting into the kitchen

before the kids

go to school,

making smoothies

and scrambled eggs

in my yoga pants,

my long gray sweatshirt,

and my four-inch

lucite stilettos.

Click, click, click

go the heels

as I teeter toward

the tea cups.

Click, click, click

as I strut

with paper towels

to the place

where the cat

has retched.

Oh Dolly,

as I slip into

these high-heeled thoughts

I thank you

for dressing up the day.

They two-step

through the morning chores,

while meanwhile

my slippered self

marvels at the fun,

but shrugs—

she’s just so darn grateful

for her arch support,

for the rubber soles

that ground her

as she sweeps

up the crumbs,

as she wipes

the counters clean.

Grateful that when

the high heeled thoughts

start to sing,

they invite her

to sing along.

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After Hearing the Heartbreaking News

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on May 8, 2020| 15 Comments »

 

 

 

Tonight, life wears me like

an old pair of shoes. The kind

it can slip its feet into

without untying the laces.

The kind of shoes a mother

would probably throw out

thinking of the act as a favor.

Life is tired, tonight,

of running. Doesn’t want

to dress to impress. It just

wants to know that it goes on,

especially tonight when

events seem to point

to the contrary. And so

though I am down at the heel

and shabby, life slips into me

as if life depended on it.

And we walk in the moonlight,

cry. And howl. Then take another step.

And then another.

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At the Poetry Reading Tanka

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , on July 13, 2012| 3 Comments »

for Valerie

implausibly balanced
on strappy bright pink heels,
the poem shows its scars—
I long to touch them gingerly
but they touch me

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Great Expectations Haiku

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on June 4, 2012| 4 Comments »

these big shoes
though they have long been mine
they still don’t fit

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