Salt Damage

They were buried under a pile of winter coats,

leather cracked and stiff from lack of use.

I remember the way the slush got into our throats

and the way the world offered no real excuse.

The salt has bloomed into a crusty, white map,

a chemical geography of the night we walked home.

I fell into the closet like a sudden trap,

finding the lace I tied into a bulky chrome

of a knot because the string had snapped in two.

It’s still holding, tight and ugly and wrong.

I can’t bring myself to throw away the shoe,

or the feeling that I haven't been that strong.