Four boots set on the cobblestones
Outside the shoemaker’s shop.
Four boots turned into flower pots.
A small shop, full of shoes,
piled up everywhere.
Boots, sandals, ballerinas,
heels, for dancing, or for walking.
In the back a woman, hair pulled back,
attaching the sole of a well-worn shoe.
Years ago, she said, her father died.
The cemetery, when she went
That wasn’t where her father was,
And so she went no more.
Then one day walking in the woods
Her eye was caught
By a pair of beaten-up galoshes
half-hidden in the underbrush.
They looked familiar,
Old acquaintances they seemed
For they had been her father’s.
She took them home
And set them outside her door
Planting them with pansies, pensees or thoughts,
also known as heartsease.
Now every day on leaving
Or returning home at night
Her father’s there to welcome her.