Walking the Perimeter

The left sole is yawning open now,

a mouth that is tired of breath.

I wore these through the hospital halls

and the week that smelled like death.

Red clay is caked in the heavy treads

from the day we dug the hole.

I can't seem to throw the things away,

this leather, this rubber, this soul.

I snapped a lace in the parking lot

and tied it back in a knot.

A hard, little lump against my foot

in the only pair I’ve got.