ever since you left,
I’ve been putting your shoes on
figuring my body would sway the way yours did,
it would echo
the rhythm of your steps
in the piano room.
i plant herbs in your kitten heels,
trying to understand
if the weight you carried
was to heavy for your fragile self-
if we shared shoes
your high heels birth silhouettes
of you laughing, happy.
you were beautiful.
i walk around the house in your boots hoping the walls will absorb the noise and give it back when i need you most
when i cannot be a mother to my self
when he says
‘you’re not my mum’
and then you come crying
into my arms
asking where i bought my shoes from.