In the morning you look up and see them,
shoes, neatly tied together, hanging from a wire,
an oddity in the crisp December air, one
that, you are sure, has a story;
perhaps of rage, or exuberance, or folly;
or even an adolescent revenge.
But there are no clues, just these two sneakers,
hanging mute, waiting
for your imagination to run wild.
And you think of all the things you do not know,
all the mysteries of your life,
small and large. Mysteries
of love and betrayal and unexpected grace,
and you wonder how much knowing
would have changed your heart, and
whether mystery is a blessing
or a curse.
The two shoes in the picture above have hung on the wire outside my house since Halloween. I am sure there is a story there somewhere. In the meanwhile, I let them serve as inspiration for this poem. You can click on the image for a larger version.