our heels are pale lemon
and mulled wine red –
they click-clack on wooden
floorboards and shuffle on
marble-tiled floors –
our heels are hickeyed with
pavement and lip gloss, with
stale music and sidewalk chalk –
our heels smell like gossip
and cherry chapstick –
they teeter on the dance floor
and on our older sisters’ carpets –
our heels make us stumble on
the long walk home –
they sound muffled, like melting
headlights in the waning night,
like secrets and distant stars –
our heels carry us back home,
where our parents tell us
we’ve missed our curfew –
they bring us back into our rooms,
back into our older sisters’ closets –
these are the heels we wore
during your sweet sixteen and
on our first dates –
these are the heels we wore
when we dipped our fingers
into the sunlight and tasted honey –
these are the heels we wore
when music poured out of the stereo
and laughter gave us wings –
these are the heels we danced in
back when we were free, back when
time leaked from our hearts, back
when all we ever did was smile.