we were two sets of shoestrings tied tightly to the line
interwoven entangled by our umbilical cords
we reached our arms out like limbs and dug deep into the roots of one another
and now as the swaying steadies we find ourselves still
hung up above rooftops and the sounds of distant urban traffic

we expected the spark
what we weren’t ready for was the fire
the blaze of flames across our spinal columns
and now we fall like dominoes
my single finger the instigator of the assembly line rumble
the clacking of stone minds and granite hearts
and here we are

i walk home from school and carry my own books
reviewing the lessons of the day, replay classroom movies in my head
untuck the middle school love notes from my pocket
and correct the scribbled lines of lust in the margins
for grammar and punctuality

the timing’s all wrong

it’s like a silent rom com in reverse

i pull down my pants and then hand you a flower

i do have something to say

despite the ten thousand pounds of rubble that my tongue laid out before us
buried beneath is an entire civilization of love that i’ve been slowly rebuilding
dirty hand by dirty hand i present each slab of lumber side by side
to create a foundation worthy of the love that i don’t yet know i deserve

and the house isn’t finished, there’s no running water
and i made the mistake of building it in a neighborhood where kids
throws shoes tied tight together up over the powerline
but before the mad inevitable hurricane comes barging in like a battery ram
breaking down the door i’ve assemble to separate the outside world
from the inside of our hearts clacking like wooden chimes in the wind
my hope is these floors i put down can serve as a proper dance floor
for two sets of shoestrings tied tightly to the line
an ode to the miles they walked to get to this one strange awkward moment


Author: brice maiurro

Denver poet. Author of Stupid Flowers, out now through Punch Drunk Press.

3 thoughts on “SHOESTRINGS”

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