Shoes

Ma had lots of heels she’d promised to give me.
 

Stilettos, kitten heels, and a daring red. 
 

Scuffed and worn, 

yet donned like designer.
 

I’d watch her get ready from her bedroom floor and see
 

how tall they made her,

like a swan's outstretched neck. 

Now, they’re all in a barrel across the world, 

on the feet of girls in Monrovia.

Had these sneakers in elementary school—

awful.

White all around which would’ve been normal enough. 
 

If only there weren’t purple baby feet prints on ‘em.

Covered in dust under my bed, 

they’d only come out when there weren't other options.

Every time I’d slide them on,                                        I’d tug my jeans down as far as I could,
 

but they were never truly hidden.
 

My eyes still look at shoes,

shaping stories of the people wearing ‘em.

Though I’ve finally gotten a pair 

of something inconspicuous,

yours aren’t tearing at the edges.

Honestly I fear this one's a bit on the nose, especially with the ending but idk.