Claire Keyes Ode to My New Shoes Little knowing they would call out to me from the rows of boxes in Marshalls I passed them by at first, noting only their color like lime sherbet, like the first green of spring, touching in its lightness and youth. Passed them by and tried others, sturdy athletic shoes, white-laced and with strange, transparent heels, interior coils clustered to give bounce to my step. Shoes for running, for aerobics, for leaps and kicks. Vigorous shoes. Vapid shoes. And others too: orange sandals I slipped between my toes, flip-flops that slap the floor like ungainly duck-feet. Better the cool green softness I slipped into, an inset curve of blue massaging gel by Dr. Scholl beneath my heel. Shoes designed with whimsy and grace, straps of white Velcro criss-crossing my arch, meeting shorter straps lacing my heel. Shoes so comfortable I could nap in them or hike to the post office, through the grocery store, my toes spreading in the delicious suede and netting of the uppers. Green shoes! For the youth still nestled within me, for the girl who leaped sets of stairs, for the dancer in me, swaying, sashaying. Granted, I thought twice about them, yet couldn't resist matching green shirt with green shoes, green eyes. I luxuriate in my shoes show them off to ladies clad in green, saying I have the shoes for you. Just to hear them laugh and exclaim at the beauty of my shoes.

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