Day 4: Someone who makes you happy [mom (and my kitty)]
April photo a day
Forgotten Boots in Mom’s Closet
Remember those cowboy boots
I stole from your closet,
white and fringed like a showgirls dress.
You never noticed me, Mom,
trotting around the house
in boots three times too big.
So I wore them in secret,
and tried on clothes to find the perfect outfit.
Maybe a black/white dress with belt buckles earrings
or a white flowing shirt over dark-wash jeans stuffed
in the boots. I felt like some young trend setter.
I stomped when I walked
to see the swishing of the fringe.
You caught me on one day,
in my favorite jean skirt and a cowboy hat,
trying to wear those white hooves to school.
You disregarded my desire to be different and
ordered me to take them off.
You glared then pointed towards the door.
I took the boots off one by one,
brushed my finger across the fringe.
I wonder now how any trend setter
would’ve felt if she had to ignore her creativity
and obey someone else’s rules, waiting for others.
Because of authority’s ideals of what’s acceptable
and a mother’s want for a young girl to look presentable.
But all orders and arms waving me to go change can’t
stop me from dressing how I want—I was back where I began,
bells on my wrist, jingling with each step and
two belts around my waist but neither in the pant loops.
Did you forget you owned a white studded pair?
As a teenager, I imagine
the clothes you wore with those boots
something as simple as a skirt
as colorful as you personality.
* This is another poem I wrote a while ago about my mom & her boots!