Wedding Shoes

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.



Callista Buchen is currently an MFA candidate at Bowling Green State University, where she also teaches creative writing and composition classes, as well as serves as an assistant editor of Mid-American Review.