Verselove, Day 14: Espadrille wedges

Teacher-writers at ethicalela are sponsoring a month of poetry writing.

All educators can join in, too, at this link!

Andy Schoenborn invites us to write a paragraph about shoes, 

then find the poem that tumbles from the paragraph.

 

Shoes

My aunt bought me my first pair of heels.  It was the summer of '81, and my brother and I were in her care in Los Angeles until our parents followed our move from the Army base in Stuttgart to the one in El Paso. I was barely coming into my own; she nudged me forward with my requests for Sun-In, a cute bikini, and those heels--if you could call them that.  Espadrille wedges, more like, with a cap toe and buckled straps.  The heel was about two inches, if I recall properly, straw-colored because I wasn't one for brights.  I wore them with sundresses, shorts, those flared jeans I could finally fit into, my body stretching skyward and taking the pre-pubescent pudge with it.  I felt six feet tall in those shoes, like I could finally be seen as a whole person, the one developing curves and not just breaking them in class.

Those Heels

My aunt

bought me 

my first

pair of heels,

in the summer

of '81.

I imagine her

thumbing her nose

at her brother, my father,

still in Stuttgart

as he and my mother

packed up our belongings

to move us to El Paso.

I was barely 

coming into my own

that season.

In Los Angeles, I

lounged by my aunt's pool

in the bikini she bought me

Sun-In crisping my hair.

She insisted on the shoes, too.

Espadrille wedges

cap-toed

buckle-strapped

straw-colored

(I wasn't bold enough

for brights, just yet).

I wore them with

sundresses

shorts

those flared jeans

I could finally fit into,

body stretching skyward

taking pre-pubescent pudge with it.

Those extra two inches

made me feel six feet tall

like I could finally be seen

as a whole person

the one developing curves

not just breaking them in class.