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Your Shoes

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It costs me a lot to admit that, can’t  you understand? If I wrap my arms around myself and hold  tight it keeps the pain in. Stops it spilling out and making a terrible mess. I’m  better off here, looking at the closed wardrobe door. Your shoes are standing outside it now, side by side. The right shoe on the right hand side and the left shoe on the left. In their proper place, no fuss like a husband and wife. I’d like you to get married one day. I’d like you to have a normal life, of course I would. I’ve  tied the shoe laces together so that they don’t get separated.

Prose by Michele Roberts
Your Shoes
English Literature Anthology

Photographer : Kudzai Pasirayi
Location: Nottingham
Autumn

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