She had a pair of shoes for every purpose and every surface.

     There were her converse sneakers,
     mottled black and white, unspectacular but loved,
     worn away by city sidewalks and the kitchen floors of friends' houses.

     There were her high top hiking boots,
     their treads locked onto ***** ridges and pebbles,
     pulling her up the hills and mountains.

     There were her high heels,
     lifting her off of office carpets and escalators,
     elevating her to a higher place in the world.

     There were a dozen others,
     all of them still lined up in her closet,
     except the tennis shoes she was wearing
     when the accident happened.

     The funeral home called twice asking for shoes,
     but she had none that matched her casket's grey silk.

     “Let her go barefoot,” we replied.