Tuesday, April 27, 2010

by Laurie Kolp

She held onto the shoes for months
the last remnants, last reminders
of the times they shared together
shopping weekly at Sam's,
where she somehow mustered
enough strength to push
a wheelchair and a cart simultaneously
while laughing at her common dilemma;
eating lunch at the Golden Corral,
where she repeatedly filled plates with ears of corn
for the lady to put in the Tupperware
she had carried in her purse for that sole purpose;
or simply staying at the mansion chatting,
the old lady in her favorite chair,
she at the foot of the four-poster bed
listening patiently at repeated stories of yore,
the broken records that were conversation-
until the last time she saw her
(unaware it was the last)
the companion,the dear friend
told her to try on all the shoes
they went through her closet together
and laughed at the frivolous styles.
She brought the dozens of shoes home
found room for them in her matchbox closet,
the only remnants of their precious time-
and that's all she had.

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