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Sometimes I Write Poetry

Sometimes I write poems. Not really. One time I took a poetry class and that poem, an ode to be exact, was published in an art and literary magazine. A few of you were asking to read that poem. Here it is!

Ode to Boots

My grandma gave me a pair of boots

chosen by herself especially for me.

Two durable covers smooth

as saddles.

The mustard colored leather

keeps a firm grip

on the ground.

They promise to carry me anywhere.

I showcase the gift the way

I imagine Cinderella modeled her

glass slippers.

My boots appoint me

a royal adventurist.

With wool socks,

my feet become two durable vehicles

with the power to bring me to

any destination my heart

so desires.

They smell of asphalt and dirt,

of course gravel ad dark mulch.

Sweet grass and dust.

They have danced down

empty hallways and bustling stairwells.

Kicked dead leaves and hopped puddles.

Many steps are left in their lifetime.

All I know is where I have been,

not how far I will go.

The path ahead remains a mystery.

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