SHOE(S)

The first time was in a photograph, prismatic purple flowers against sullied white shoes. You said rose garden and I wanted to see for myself.

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Once I knew it existed, I wanted to go all the time. How could I not?  A few blocks from your apartment; good excuse for exercise. Once we crossed the freeway it was all nostalgia; neighborhoods that people grew up in. 

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One day in summer, I flew in from Washington. It was warm and the air had a taste to it, unspeakable. We drove straight there, took refuge from the sun under a tree. I felt tired, wanted to nap. Your blue flowered dress became part of the scenery. 

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We’d go often, read in the damp grass;
Be witness to quinceañeras, weddings
Catch glimpses of engagement photos 
Watch countless selfies

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We took your niece, guided her through paths. Stuck her nose into petals, explained each color. She was spellbound by the splashing of the fountain, the noise that drowned everything.

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I finally took a photo just like yours, wanted to recreate that feeling I first had.
​
This time: two pairs and radiant red. ​

ERICK SÁENZ splits his time between Monterey where he teaches and San Jose where he writes. In 2014 he founded Lilac Press. In addition to several self-published chapbooks, his stories have previously appeared in Pinball and Hobart Pulp. You can find him online at ignorethedisclaimer.tumblr.com.