Own Goal

people laughed
but they couldn't take it away from me:
it was a mistake
but at least it was mine

Following Footsteps (owed to the west wind)

For Granny Do

        even mercury is stabilised,
        - from the patter of tiny feet
        to the clogs they inherit -
        by the hermetic wings
        of our talarial tarsels

some people are scared
to dress in clothes of the dead
but i like the thread
to wear as they wore

my nan had a thing for footwear
she cared about shoes that support
the arch, the bridge, with the extra sole
this was the goal
she found her feet
before she started thinking on them

she laid foundations
she invested the hours
willing growth into roots and leaves and flowers
the teacher in her
that can be found in us all
if itself supported and fostered and cultivated
if given a chance,
if given space to dance

she said
her biggest regret in becoming old
was being no longer able to don
a pair of heels, high and mighty
a stilted Aphrodite
with the prosthetic legs
that could make a single parent tower
with posture, poise and power

later in life
she would always shell out
for the sported brands
advocating her loyalty to the stripes
and the gods
claimed it could help you stop going flat
a step with an engineered spring
Doreen loved to sing
never pronated
chin up, chin up
the world awaited

and when she died
after the eyes had dried
there was the usual clearance
amongst which i was asked
if i wished her trainers
and it clicked, like heels
in this house of cheap skates
trying to make a world
in which there's no place for waste
so i adopted these goods
3 pairs, 7.5
enough barleycorns for a perfect fit
she had gone up in size
as her stature shrank
as she struggled with her laces
too frail for embraces
triggering memories of myself
as a vulnerable grand child
as i struggled to resolve my own knots
and cross the dots

three years i have walked in her shoes
literally, figuratively, and much more than a mile
she is with me
in these innocent memento moris
these prosaic props, my little foundations
in my tread, in my gate, in my wandering tangents
helping me think
of the way that i walk
and correct my carriage
beyond the lonely meaning of marriage
allowing me to hold myself
after years of petty posturing
and adolescent neglect
now, with intent, mindful
of the things upon which i impose
my weight
i've a whole other person here
guiding my step
like when i was young
she was my third and fourth lung
blowing wind in my sails
helping me glide along the rocky and rambling trails
when i couldn't keep up
only half a sea in my cup
now again the canvas is filled by zephyrs
and taken by the subtle stroke of feathers