Rubber Boots

Rubber Boots

 

It’s on these wet mornings

at the park

that she feels the most

insecure,

even as the children

still play

in their rubber boots.

 

Her favorite bench,

soaked yet sturdy,

the bottle of brandy,

warmed in the clutch.

 

She watches

as a small girl

is lifted by her father,

placed on his shoulders

and taken for a pony ride.

 

She does not relate to that.

 

And the birds

at her feet

are going hungry today.

 

Because she left

the moldy bread

at home.

 

Along with her identity.

 

And there is the faintest

crack of a smile,

when the pony ride ends.

 

Because it’s the tender moments

that she never had,

she misses the most.