Shoes talk a lot when they’re old.
When they were young they could squeak
The way newborn babies speak.
Old shoes have much more to say
Though they are as silent as tipping toes.
Creases across the arches wink
They way crow’s feet crinkle
When an old man smiles or blinks.
Unkempt buckles or tattered laces
Like an old maid’s once loved locks.
Scuffs and scars from roads of
Grass, dirt, pavement, bricks
From places shoes no longer recognize.
Their soles are worn and wise from travel.
Yet they know the feet inside them
They way a grandmother’s eyes know
Her grandchildren.