Monday, April 17, 2017

growing pains


i was twelve.

i'd wait for my mother after school and just stare down at my feet; both chucks with holes in them, soles about to fall off. my father would calculate our commute in the mornings as to use the least amount of gas. he too stared down at my feet and i could sense some fraction of shame, maybe disappointment. i didn't ask for new shoes that year, as i'd done the year before. i never brought up my wet feet or aching heels. i let those shoes deteriorate and fall apart, like the broken mirrors at home.

No comments:

Post a Comment