White Shoes

By Miranda Keith

White shoes that haven’t seen
the light of day
for a couple weeks.
I wore them to a party,
then-spotless canvas fabric stained by sand in a basement
while I danced to loud music and
lost my intuition.
I don’t know when I became
a pair of stained white shoes.
My mother told me
I am pure
and don’t let anyone
ruin that.
A heart as loving as mine
does not deserve to get hurt
but you must have thought
it looked delicious,
and it’s tenderness
would make a great meal–
like a steak you bought at
the meat market.
Maybe my shoes are stained
by the blood dripping from my chest
where you ripped my heart from me.
Laces once tied tightly
now unraveled at my feet.
I think of lies I’ll tell my mother
when she notices my insecurities.
I was once as clean as white shoes,
clinging to my purity–
you took it from me
and I have felt empty since.
White shoes
and a stain I can’t remove.
They will never
be the same.

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Miranda Keith (she/her) is an Iowa native who received her bachelor's degree in Human Development and Family Studies from Iowa State University in 2022. She is a poet, photographer, and entrepreneur. Miranda's work focuses on the paradoxes of being human, overcoming trauma, and existential crises discovered along the way.