They looked strange
in that muddy pit,
the white, shiny old-lady shoes,
not unlike the ones you wore
every day, laced around the tall
white socks that went
halfway up your calves.
They looked just as clean now
as when I used to sneak
my sunburnt scalp out
of the swimming pool, like
they too had been filled
with formaldehyde and covered
in powders. I think of when
I was little and how I slipped
my too-tiny toes inside them,
tripping around while you cooked
us some microwavable
London broil, stumbling not
unlike how you did just a few
weeks ago, held by your hands
and the walls around you.
I just can’t think about them
being forever out of the sun,
never again carrying
you into the shade
of those hot summer afternoons.