FROZEN MEMORIES OF SHOES
It was the kind of day where long memories
are made. A cold sole, wet feet and grey stones
sort of day, and the air sang with a thick leaf,
brown horse sort of smell. We all tensed like
a leather collar, stiff as frozen snow when he
placed his shoes on the table and invited
death into our house. On that day we fell
into mourning before anyone had died.
Recursion Day 10: Over The Falls
Note 1: Take an object or emotion from the free-write and reinvent it.
Note 2: This poem is centred around the word shoe, using eight words that sprung from a free-write based on it. It also revolves around the old wives tale of never placing shoes on the table as it invites death into the house.
© Misky 2013