there is a hole in the fabric of your sneakers
sitting silent on your porch. you abandoned them
a while ago, in the effulgent cries of spring.
opting instead for worn out sandals, that shaped
themselves over time to the shape of your wandering feet.
when no one is looking, i stand in your shoes
on the abandoned porch. and it feels closer than holding
hands; closer than listening to your mixtapes;
closer than spying on notes written in your looping
handwriting in the margins of books i never gave back.
inspired by "Born Confused" by Tanjua Desai Hidier
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