Still Fits

I wrote DONATE on the lid.

Found them looking for a belt—

the shoes on top, the way things did

when I was trying not to feel what I felt.

Right heel worn to the outside edge.

The crease across the toe set deep.

Months of walking the same wedge

of street. A shoe will always keep

what the foot was doing.

I put them on to test.

Eight steps down the hall. The ruin

of it: they still fit best.

The arch. The lean.

The box is open on the floor.