For sale, black leather
baby shoes,
worn, cracked, aged.
Twenty-five dollars,
found in a tourist shop
among patriotic towels,
candles and soaps,
all over-priced.
Forgotten by the buyer,
unknown by the feet
which wore them
so long ago.
Where is the man
whose mama carefully saved
to buy those shoes,
who lovingly tied them,
kissed his round face,
and held his hand
to steady his steps?
Where is the man
who loved his mama,
and smiled up at her eyes
and went on his way
in the black leather
baby shoes?
Eve Remillard
8/13/2016