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February 11, 2018
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our heels are pale lemon
and mulled wine red--
they click-clack on wooden
floorboards and shuffle on
marble-tiled floors--
our heels are hickeyed with
pavement and lipgloss, with
stale music and sidewalk chalk--
our heels smell like gossip
and cherry chapstick--
they teeter on the dance floor
and on our older sisters’ carpets--
our heels make us stumble on
the long walk home--
they sound muffled, like melting
headlights in the waning night,
like secrets and distant stars--
our heels carry us back home,
where our parents tell us
we've missed our curfew--
they bring us back into our rooms,
back into our older sisters’ closets--
these are the heels we wore
during your sweet sixteen and
on our first dates--
these are the heels we wore
when we dipped our fingers
into the sunlight and tasted honey--
these are the heels we wore
when music poured out of the stereo
and laughter gave us wings--
these are the heels we danced in
back when we were free, back when
time leaked from our hearts, back
when all we ever did was smile.

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