Your Mother's Shoes

Your Mother's Shoes

By Kristi Annelie

I swore I'd never compare you.
But here I am again
And again
And again,
Like every day of the last 5 years,
Meticulously sizing up
A pair that could never belong together.
You and him.
For one cannot honestly exist
While the other does.

He makes me want to leave legacies
And move mountains.

You put our faces on a plaque in EPCOT
And made me climb hills in your mother's shoes.

I think you meant well, but you never knew me,
Because I didn't know me.

He remembered me as soon as he saw me,
And reminded me how to say my own name;
The same one you tried to change.

He has cured me of diseases
I didn't even know I had,
And is the last person on Earth I'd have ever expected
To call my Healer.

But every day he encourages me
To keep my own shoes on the ground.
I'm sorry your mother's were a bit too small for me.

 

kristi annelie is an adjunct professor of college composition and creative writing at kean university in new jersey. she is currently revising/editing her first self-published novel "three squeezes" for re-release this summer. if not reading or writing, she can typically be found with her phone in her hand posting poems, nature photos, tea, crochet projects and too many selfies on instagram. if you'd like a glimpse of her daily life, or to follow her re-release progress, follow her at: @livelaughwrite

 

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