Winter Boots
written by: Christine Redman-Waldeyer
I sit between lit candles,
one marked “protection,”
the other “abundance.”
What I really want to do is shop for shoes,
find the perfect winter boots
I can wear to all the Christmas parties,
to the annual New Year’s dinner
out with the same couple
from my husband’s work.
I don’t cry about the fact that my father’s gone
but instead find myself
at my mother’s doorstep.
The cement steps that take me there
replace the original bricks that fell—
those steps too narrow,
must be side-stepped,
like each boss I’ve had before me.
On the ride home,
I take the long way down
each winding street.
I can’t remember a Christmas
without the tradition
of looking at the lights.
My father drove us each year
in our pajamas to get in line
to see the Mueller’s. Each
life size reindeer followed
until we reached
the One with the red light.
Around the corner a ladder
to roof, to chimney, the automated
Santa.
Tonight, I sit between lit candles,
one marked “protection,”
the other “abundance.”
What I really want to do is shop for shoes,
find the perfect winter boots.
- Winter Boots - December 14, 2021
- Chandelier - July 22, 2021
- Being Spanish - May 11, 2021
