Inheritance

Poem of the Month

Inheritance

If your mother is blithe,

swirl-skirted, with reedy feet

you'll slip into her dazzle-shoes,

and know that you were born to throw off light.

If you are born

from a lineage of the sturdy,

you won't know of champagne or Tango.

Your feet will grow

too lumpish for jeweled shoes;

your spine, too dense for dips and twists.

My mother's shoes were limp-mouthed,

sloped with wear, in reusable shades:

beige, black and navy; made for plodding

from coop to kitchen on muscular feet.

Though I was born of women

too diligent to dance,

I did not inherit vigor--

just one pair of viridian stilettos, never worn

nestled in cardboard like two shining birds.

Nights, they glow like foxfire

on the barren closet floor.

-Kristen McHenry