Shoes

 

Black or brown

solid leather

a small bloom tucked into laces

that tied hopes into departures

or trapped fear beneath tongues

pressed over sinew and bone

nerves holding their breath

until the worst was over.

How do you walk from your home?

Herbs on windowsills

childish scribbles faded in stairwells

embalmed in garlic and onion

beef fat and paprika

spirit of goulash.

What choice relics get tucked into the pack?

Grandma’s flour sifter,

great-grandad’s silver snuff box -

with its treasured stale pinch,

…a bone from kitty’s grave.

The pressure inside your chest

will tread with you, no need

to wrap it carefully inside a sock,

it will arrive safely.

I was inspired by the “Shoes on the Danube Bank” memorial which honors the many thousands of Jews and others massacred on the riverside during WWII by the fascist Hungarian militia Arrow Cross Party. Victims were often made to pack their belongings and then remove their (re-saleable) shoes by the river. "Shoes" was first published in Poetry Scotland  Issue 102 October 2021.