Red shoes and silence

mean tear-water tea. Abandoned things
and I’m ready to fill any pan, pot, rift
you choose, salty-deep. The red shoe
on windblown corner, red car packed,
ocean-bound. I say it’s no proof
my heart exists; this body gushes water
from any careless wound. Like she’s not
even looking my way. Do you say I gave up?
I got tired and gave up? I say I pushed her
boat when the sea was drained dry—
with only my breath, soul’s inky shiraz.

7 thoughts on “Red shoes and silence”

    1. Thanks so much for that! One of those pieces that took off on a different path than I thought I intended. 🙂


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