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.