The girl came home to a crisp April
stubborn weather that refused to grow warm.
The place was the same, she kept telling herself.
But that wasn’t true.
For dimmed lights
and a wobbling beneath her feet
replaced the secure grip on her shoulders that she had known.
The city was quiet and dark as they walked
at 7 o’clock on a Saturday night.
Through a muted mirror image
of the place she had been raised
the place she became herself.
They walked down the little streets
where she had skinned knees
only to get up and keep going
On a one-way street
devoid of a lit street lamp,
on the edge of a worn curb
sat a pair of shoes.
with the heels folded down
like they had been slipped on in a hurry.
The shoes were not old
nor were they worn
and in fact
the girl noted
they rather lacked character.
how sad that they should be left
to fend for themselves
without the divine guiding hand
of the foot they had molded to match.
With something so important missing
the same places must feel so different.
To be without a foot
to be without the simplicity of security.
To find your own way home
After your world has shifted
imperceptibly in one way
and unmistakably in another.
The girl came to realize
standing on the curb with a sad pair of shoes
that no matter how much
Mother Nature grumbled and roared
Home would be Home
it was just up to her
to figure out how to get there
without a pair of feet telling her the way.