In Back Room Drawer.

Moving house again !
I always say “Last time!”
then a pragmatic world
sends me off again.

With cartons spread around
I look in the spare room
chest of drawers.
Elderly shirts, trousers, sweatshirts
not yet too old to wear again.
Sewing thread, buttons, needles and scissors,
fabric ends from the days before
Asian sweat shop clothing,
before fabric and dress pattern prices soared.

Tucked amongst them
an old brown paper bag
taken from place to place.
In it I find my first pair
of “slip-on” shoes
with no straps or laces
to grip my low arched feet.
Bone coloured, my first shoes
not brown or black.
In high school I was
now old enough for them,
a step towards
the high heeled shoes of
early teen craving.

Battered now, their low heels
worn at the outer corners,
relics of an exciting tie when
I knew at last I was
moving toward adulthood.

They would come with me.