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in her shoes

by Kyle Anne Kish

the stale winds
of march hung
in the air like
the smell of sweat
socks in a damp
gym bag. she
could almost taste
the artificial fertilizer
farmers’ were spreading
on their fields.

ahhh, the good country
life, she thought, as her
thoughts blew amongst
the same stale air she breathed.

why did every breath hold
her down like a dog chained
to a cement block? where
was she going with all
this misery she dragged
behind and within her each
and every day?

she was waiting for something
she couldn’t quite wrap
her head around. it was like
having a word on the tip
of her tongue but never
quite finding it. let it be,
she thought. when all
else fails ... turn on the tube,
light a candle, bake a cake,
sit and watch ice cubes melt.

anything ...

anything was better
than wasting away
while butterflies churned
like butter on the breeze
and her cycle of life
was recycling itself each
and every day into the same
exact thing it was the day
before that and the day
before that and the day
before that.

maybe the electrodes
on the table
in the psychiatrist’s
quarters would jump
start her life, as she
peed herself and temporarily
forgot the day before
that and the day before
that and the day before that.

Van Gogh's Shoes 
Vincent van Gogh's "Shoes"

 

05/09/2007

Author's Note: Yes, I put myself in someone else's shoes. Even though they didn't fit, I hope I depicted it well.

Posted on 05/10/2007
Copyright © 2021 Kyle Anne Kish

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Travis G Finborg on 05/12/07 at 07:20 PM

Those shoes seem very uneasy indeed. Somewhere one wouldnt want to dwell for too long.

Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 05/15/07 at 01:59 AM

Terribly sad when some form of dementia settles in. You catch the frustration, the loneliness, the desperation, and unhappy resignation of a mind no longer able to function well.

Posted by Alisa Js on 05/22/07 at 03:39 AM

Interesting images and lines.. thanks for sharing. .aloha

Posted by Deborah Breuer on 06/04/07 at 04:22 AM

I can taste that stale air. And I remember what those day felt like, although, they seem so very long ago. A great write. Congrats.

Posted by Elizabeth Jill on 06/09/07 at 04:26 PM

It in't dementia that comes to my mind herein... it's any crushed person...
why did every breath hold
her down like a dog chained
to a cement block?


These words completely blow me away. The whole poem is incredibly delivered and formed...(well, just what I've come to expect in your art.)

Posted by Rachelle Howe on 09/22/11 at 06:44 PM

Brutal

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