Bows
By ralph
Sun, 12 Apr 2026
- 40 reads
2 comments
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Bows
after Stevie Smith
You see. I have a pair of old scuffed shoes.
Together we walk around, here and there.
The shops, the gallery, my friendly doctor.
I tie and untie laces as if in metronome.
The twisted and trailing bows tripping my life.
And at dawn, I note trellis across the road.
I knot, then pause. The left, not the right.
New breath of spring brings a pause in me —
a moment when decisions will be newly laid.
For there are thorny paths I can no longer tread.
Yes. Ancient grubby turns and pulls of history
are to be undoubled then whipped away.
That even if I have to creep on glass grass,
I will plant my toes into the softest fresh sands.
A view where I see myself not drowning.
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