Cherry red leather toothpick thin heels,
I teeter left then right,
brown sweat glistened arms spread wide,
spread wing like out,
for equilibrium,
the tarmack granite gray black
too close to scab covered knees,
to my head,
to what could transpire seconds from now,
a pebble or hole in this uneven sidewalk,
a small chip or flaw in what should be smooth,
blood red,
pink bruised skin,
a twinge of pain,
a heel, broken;
snapped jagged by my side.
I stagger,
fear's intoxicating drink holds me,
my thoughts a mega phone loud jumble,
the red soles,
grey from dragging,
from stomping, clip clomping,
the different hues of tiles,
of dirt but never mud,
of grazing a scuffing,
of leg work for miles and miles.
These red soles were new once,
bright and shining,
just snatched from their box,
with crinkly white paper,
so brilliant in their unused perfection,
I kept them like that,
in the cupboard,
up high,
on the highest tip top shelf,
on tipping over toes I'd reach them,
open the treasure,
and inhale that rich sent of brand new leather.
Took them out this day last June,
for a stroll not far from my still open front door,
to the smooth winding driveway and down to just before the tightly locked gate,
back and forth I broke the cow skin in,
found my balance quickly then,
wondered back in at last to the cool tile of the veranda floor,
the gentle lazy breeze,
heated like just drunk coffee breathe,
tickling like a feather on my cheek,
my burnt caramel coloured toes aching,
the start of darker brown swollen blisters,
I massage the ache away with practiced hands,
my cream gapped tooth smile wide,
more a grin,
as I stare down the object of the twisting pain,
knowing the ache will last three days at most,
my chest heavy and full of adoration,
for my red-hot red soles shoes.
©bellevies
B