Wear Wolves

I hated them and they hated me, yet we had a bond.  I was quiet, but they were determined and vulgar to make themselves fashionable to the crowd.  They laughed so loud and was so proud as they were royal blood in the clouds.  They trotted their heels to glow with black polish showing off their buckles that was silver and loud.  They needed me, and, I seethed with anger that these were my partners til the sun went down.  They were so strong in leather took beatings from every weather how I hated their ability to stand out.  Making their way with my feet at display in the streets where every busy man and woman eyes would meet.  Others pointed and looked and their heads were shook as I entered into the classroom.  At the end of the day I placed them in the closet far away with their tongues dangling on the ground.  They stood in darkness until the next day when the sun came out, and we started the walk all over again.  Their life was worn and souls were torn from living a life of a shoe.

The Lady Upstairs

It was at the same time on a different day.  The creaking sound of the steps never faded away.  I was a little young child no more than nine years old.  My gait was quick my mind was ready to explore.  Like the strike of the clock I knew it was time to run to the living room and prepare for my watch.   Balancing my eye over the hole as I stared steadying my light body onto the dining room chair.  One step at a time she landed on the same spot taking her time as if the clock would stop.  I held my hand over my chest waiting for her appearance to come down the stairs.  It was like watching a movie eager for the thrill as if the image floating would miss her last and tumble with a great might onto the last stair.  Her figure was clothed in an old worn night gown.  Was she a widow or a older child I feared?  Her hair was always braided into two soft knotted plats with streaks of gray that peek-a-boo between the black threads.  A body that may have danced in the past alive and fill of merry now replaced on the with the passing of time as a heavily-built frame took over without a twinkle in her eye.  Her olive hairless calves clung  like life to the white socks leaning over her knees.  The slippers were of some type of corduroy material dragged behind her heels.  She was always mumbling and chewing something dark, but I never knew if it was candy or chocolate as it rolled in her lined mouth.  She took her long nails and opened the glass paneled lobby door.  It was misty with dew and needed a good wash.  If only she knew an audience was always present, perhaps she would take a bow. 

The Dead Woman's Coat

The coat stood standing in the dark.  I could feel its presence behind the closet door.  If it had hands it would turn the door knob and let itself out.  After all, the coat had a purpose to haunt and hang an intimidating effect that was not to be ignored.  The smell was a faint pressed light must odor that was not to be confused with perfume.  It lingered with puffy shoulders that even a baker would not want to wear on its head.  Of course it was headless and that was the scary part.  The person it was became cold and now the life of which it had become hung there dead.  In the morning I would run out of the bed and say a prayer that it would not follow me downstairs to the dining room table for breakfast.  As I looked at my siblings who were quietly sipping the drippy bumpy oatmeal there was a bit of comfort that I was no longer alone.  Alone was becoming a welcoming word as I wished day and night for the coat to be gone.  Where?  Somewhere else besides in the closet that was sealed in my bedroom.  I tip-toed upstairs even with the creak and sounds of the board underneath the plaid red Scottish pattern carpet that groaned, the coat could not be ignored.