No Need for Shoes

Boxes of new shoes--

Heavy leather ones for work in the yard 

And white Keds for spring and summer holidays--

Are stacked to the ceiling of your closet.

They are new, untouched

Though they touch time, 

Stopping the clock between 

Your being here

And not.

On the shelf opposite the shoes:

Sweaters stacked in rows by color--

The black wool sweater from your parents 

Your sixteenth Christmas

Amid decades of Christmas gifts from Dad.

He would not hear you tell him all of this was too much.

All those sweaters and shoes

Were Dad apologizing for mistakes 

Neither of you would ever name.

He would keep you here, affirm your life

And how he needed you, with things.

Your passion for the completed task,

The clean house, the clean plate,

Your sense of duty:

He loved you and knew you

And thought he could leverage your soul

To buy time

To be with you.

You stayed two years more

Through the magnificent power of your will,

And then for once in your life 

You put yourself first.

Your spirit, taking wing,

Had no need for footwear or sweaters.

No need, either,

For he who bought them,

Though you loved him

More than the air you breathed.