Red Shoes

By Yaschen Dlima

You know,

I know of red shoes:

Shoes I wear while skipping

Shoes I look at

Without any real intention

Without meaning

Or proper attention

As if I don’t really

See them.

But they are.

They are there

They are there

While I sit

Sit comfortably

Under my blanket

On my messy bed

And they are after all

My shoes

At least after I took them

From my father

My father who bought them

Who never wore them

But spoke of wearing them

And I have them

These red shoes

In front of me

But turned away from me

Smooth and round

Runs red

The cloth

All through

And it makes you think

Think about the times you

Almost wore them

Those times you walked

And walked

Past homes and home-like things

Down roads full of soft divine night

Asleep on window panes and windshields

And along the cold wet pavement

Searching

For redness

Or perhaps

Something

Like a friend.

By Yaschen Dlima