putting on a stiletto at 10pm on a monday night

an ankle can be enough. 
the heel, a stone fruit, callous
from talking to garages.
outside the trees are made of sandwich wrappers
& the snow is throwing herself.
no one but me has entered my apartment
in eight weeks unless you count
the beautiful shadows of old arms.
i make a backdrop from an old sheet.
take a bath of lavender & tulle.
eat ice cream on the wooden floor
& reminisce about the centipedes
that used to sneak under my front door
in search of bird's eyes. 
my stilettos sleep within the hall closet
beside bags of dog food & a cart
i used to use to push my laundry 
to the laundry mat in the city. 
sit them on my desk beside my laptop.
shiny insect-eye black. glint of each buckle. 
i'm wearing boxers & an over-sized t-shirt.
my hair spills from my head 
like a wound. all my joints ask questions.
one at a time. then perched tall 
as an cedar or roof. sharp & ready.
snow on the sidewalk collecting more now.
my heart, a little suitcase packed
& ready for departure. life is full
of beautiful little exiles. this is mine
& i walk the hallway up & down
listening to the gallop of the heels.
the mare i become. the lamp light
gifting me more shadow. i am a sky-dipping dream.
my ankles, enough to last tonight.
each bone in my feet, 
like piano-skulled mallets, moving 
to yield a monster. i return to my desk.
admire the shoes a moment longer
before removing them. each a little air craft.
engine off. pushing shut 
the hall closet door. outside, 
winter letting herself go mad with wanting. 

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