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
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.
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.
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