Breaking In Grief
he wore
his dead son’s sneakers
bought a month before
the son’s step off into oblivion
new shoes a sign of hope
of a future planned for
not of a life too soon to be ended
they found the sneakers
still in their box
in the cupboard
worn once to try them on
designer expensive
too nice to toss or donate
so he’s wearing them now
it gives me the creeps
practicality in the face of catastrophe
I visited home
the summer after my father died
his death was sudden
it was the body that gave out
he didn’t go out of his way
to find that oblivion
I went through his clothes
to help my sister winnow out
throw out donate
to share some memories
I end up keeping a a couple of jackets
that actually fit me
with enough style to suit me
the shirt and pants
were easy to part with
most of the shoes too
my Dad was all business
when it came to shoes
his idea of comfort were
hard onyx red oxfords
there was box with a new pair
only worn to try them on
they sort of fit me
very stuff and inflexible
never being broken in
expensive
I take them
I wear them a few times
then drop them in a clothing box
they don’t fit
right size but wrong shape
maybe that’s why my Dad never
wore them either
the life my Dad hoped I would fit into
was also the right size
but the wrong shape
I was unwilling to do the work
that would break me in
so it would be a comfortable fit
I meet my friend one day
he’s sporting his son’s
wildly neon runners
it’s been a year after the death
he finally feels okay to to walk in grief
a grief he’ll never leave
but ready
to walk forward with it
This is a piece that wrote itself. A close friend of mine in recovery had recently had his son step off a balcony to his death. Helping his daughter-in-law in going through the son’s possession they found the running shoes. He did opt to keep them. These details are facts. The neon is my poetic liberty. It was the this reversal of the cliche that struck me – usually its the son filling his father’s shoes.
Which lead me to me filling my Dad’s shoes. Once again the facts are true – me helping my sister – this was back in 2002 (I think). I still havre those jackets & ear one of them frequently enough. The other is saved for special occasions. The only oxfords are real too though my father preferred more comfortable shoes for ordinary wear.
I did try them a couple of times before donating them. To fill tour father’s shoes also means to take on the life he lead, to fulfill those expectations of fitting into the normative culture – something I never did. I’m not even sure how hard I tried because it was clear I’d never do it – it would never fit.
My friend dealt with, is still dealing with, his tragedy. He spoke about his pain & struggle openly. I’ve performed this piece frequently & it has undergone a fair bit of tweaking to get the tenses right, the flow of information smooth. It is the last piece in my recent chapbook – though this edit is different yet again.
When I performed it at the chapbook launch earlier this year, I wore one of my Dad’s jackets. My friend came to hear me & he was wearing his son’s sneakers. Sometimes art is life – not an imitation.
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