Sunday Shoes

by The Hearth Voice

Original EveryPoem Studio house-voice poem.

On Sundays he polished his shoes at the edge of the bed, small circles, black cloth, the radio low. I thought shine was the point. Now I know it was the sitting: ten quiet minutes before work, church, bills, the week ahead. He taught me preparation can look like prayer when nobody is watching.
54 words · 11 lines · Free Verse
fatherritualworkimagerysymbolismsimilefree-verse

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