The poet alone br is writing an ode br to her shoes- br her shoes which br only she can fill, br her shoes of purple suede and green leather br the color of palm fronds, br her diamond-studded boots, br her feathered cowboy boots, br her seven-league epic poetry boots, br her little silver haiku boots, br with tiny heels that twinkle, br her first-person platform boots br and her backless glass slippers br modelled after Cinderella's br (one lost, at midnight, br because of a running man), br her huntress boots of India-rubber, br her lover's boots joined at the ankle br like leg irons, br her pink baby booties bronzed br for posterity, br her daughter's burning Reeboks, br her lover's laceless sneakers br left in the guest room closet br for her to kiss br year after year br after year. br br Darling shoes, br beloved feet br ten toes to walk me br toward my true love, br fuck-me pumps to fuel his passion br stiletto heels to stab him br if he strays. br br Shoes tell you everything. br Shoes speak my language. br Their tap tap tap on the airport runway br tells me the story br of a lovely, lonely woman flying after love- br That old, old story br in a new pair br of shoes.