She

by Gareth Edel

Last night as I went to bed,
she told me to throw my shoes away.

I couldn't,
the seams are still dusted from my travels.

Despite cracking leather,
in them is the River Jordan and Dust from Paris at dawn.

They wear their third set of laces,
I paid more to have them resoled then they cost when I bought them.

I defend them from every insult they have received,
in return every time i pull them off they remind me.

She has forgotten,
that the first time I slept next to her i took them off to go to bed.