Remembering

Finding personal items belonging to the departed, always calls me up short.

 Here is a poem about one of those finds.

Missing You

Your shoes still hold the shape of you.

I find them where you left them

to dry, perhaps, one behind the other

on the doorstep. Left foot forward,

slightly hen-toed. As if you are walking

a tight rope, which you were,

though we didn’t know it.

They look poised to step over

whatever obstacle is in your way.

They look practiced, ragged, war-torn.

Nike - you must have bought them in a sale,

as you’d never pay the price for brand-names.

They’re not your style, or colour, but surely your size?

though you’ve been known to buy bigger

at the right price. You even bought odd sizes once

in a bargain-basement. “Scrooge!” we called you.

But you were never stingy with your heart.

Emptying out your account for those who deserved

and those who aspired

and those who just happened to be there.

I will leave the shoes, just- so.

Primed and poised on some imminent adventure

Waiting for your say-so

Waiting for you