while we stayed in to grieve.
One smiling photo after another
but I kept looking
at the chartreuse flip flops,
wondering
do they smell,
wondering
if one could ever
if one could ever
throw them away.
Footprints sat light
on the slender foam,
dirt and sweat
forming the outlines
of a soul.
and I heard their flip flop sound
coming across the wide tile floors.
flip flops
running to say hi mom,
to get the keys to the car,
breathless
and giggling.
And I have trouble believing
it won't be so.
And so they sit,
chartreuse flip flops,
working like kryptonite
on my soul, sucking
the strength from my beliefs.
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