shoes

[literatewench]

As I stood in the door today,
I saw your old shoes on the floor.
They sat under the bed
Where I do not sleep anymore.
I meant to give them away, you know.
But every time I walk up the stairs,
And turn down the hall on the carpet,
And stand in the door
I see your shoes,
There,
Under the bed.
And I turn instead and go get fresh towels,
Or check my e-mail,
Or remember I forgot juice at the store
And I leave them there.
Tomorrow, maybe. I have a box downstairs
Meant for Goodwill.
I’m sure someone else could use these things
That sit around up there and
Cut me open as I walk by.
In someone else’s hands they’d seem quite safe,
You’d never know they softly bled me dry.
Tomorrow, then. No hurry.
Living alone now, I learn
Again, as I did so long ago
Before we met -
The couch is comfortable,
And the TV makes the house
A little less dead
A little less quiet.
Almost not alone.
So I walk downstairs
And I put the kettle on
And I make a cup of tea.
And your shoes sit there, patiently, above my head
Waiting for you to come home
And put them on again.