The Red Shoes
March 14, 2016Hybrid Poetry by Amy Jo Trier-Walker
Listen, Pocket ~ there are three shoes to fear ~ they will dance
Listen, Pocket ~ there are three shoes to fear ~ they will dance
In August, in New Orleans, in love, the heat is animal, the scent of magnolia hangs in the air the way smoke fills a crowded bar.
How is madness inherited? What are the fine lines that connect us?
Lines don’t come cheap or easy. It just sounds as if they do.
Because that’s the sweet spot I’ve learned to aim for—the moment when readers snicker or make fake barfing noises.
It’s moments like these that are as familiar as holding hands or moving in synchronicity under the bed sheets.
I want to inform students that history didn’t happen in a vacuum and is not confined to events in history books.