She Was Called “Shoes”

a Poem

Photo by Arwan Sutanto on Unsplash

She never drove a car.
She would walk and walk
the distance no matter how far.

Her wrists were dented from|
bags she carried for miles,
but she never lamented,
nor did she cry.

I remember this well,
the buzzing inner city street,
as my brother and I
straggled along with
our little feet.

Brother would beg to be carried
too. As his little legs would tire,
mama knew what she had to
do.

She gently lifted and placed
him in one arm with great care,
while her other arm and
groceries looked like they
would tear.

As a child, I thought she was
mighty strong. Slender, a
beauty that could do no
wrong.

The years passed…

She continued to walk
despite her elderly age,
as her life turned another
year, another page.