Shoe Bites

Poem

Photograph by Ema Dumitru

In my mind for days,
no one comes by anymore.

Downstairs,
fancy small attachments
waiting at the entrance for the peep show.

The shadow grows long in the hall,
mice in my mind palace
the outside world eats through

the shoe rack.
Boots stomp
in the ash of an old self.

Elegant survivors, backup dancers,
the soft leather,
my skin in the dark recess.
Pulling the zipper
in and out of love.

Set aside,
sneak them to the trashcan,
sweeping and wiping everything down.
Despair applies its passion,
straightens me
into one of many
like a flat iron.

Myself in a pile
by the front door,
never shipped into society.

But these shoe bites
are big acts of commitment.