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Elizabeth Pauzè Jan 2015
Her shoes untouched unmoved
lay carelessly
in the middle of her room
the strings still tied
forever waiting to be
undone and redone
tightly around dainty feet.
a wet shiny black nose
rest atop the left shoe.
peering through the
wide door crack
he raises his golden head
paint splattered with gray
making eye contact
with a sorrowful wine,
a moment.
the somber shake of the head
a whimper as he settles his snout
back on the left shoe
describe a pair of shoes in a way that the reader will think of death. do not mention death in the poem.

— The End —