I will find a dusty, unlabeled box
in my mother’s basement and peel back
the tired tissue paper and observe the delicate heels.
I will think how charming, this token.
I will discard my wedding shoes
and say “What?” too because I will learn
how she knew the artifacts in the closet
and their finite value. What that makes my bare feet.
A girl and her mother will unearth
white shoes with roses in the clearance bin
at Goodwill and she will trip them through puddles
on Halloween and nothing will be lost.
A blackpoll warbler will fly home
with a broken strap and anchor its gold clasp
in the summer leaves of a revegetated ash,
sending flashes that can be seen beyond the landfill.