THE ARCHIVES: Chapter 11


Liz said,
“No wonder you know
people by what kind of shoes
they wear.
You’re always
looking down.”
I nodded at her, unconsciously
letting my eyes drop to the floor.
The hall was thick with feet
moving to the next class.
Liz’s shoes
are black sneakers, scuffed at the toe
because I see her kick rocks along
as she walks.
There’s often red mud stuck
in the treads and her shoelaces are
tattered. The tongues hang out
to the side when the laces come undone.
It’s rare when Liz ties her shoes.
But I stopped so she can.

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