New Shoes

I never had much interest  
in clothes or shoes,  
though I did have a passing interest  
in earrings and hair accessories.  
Nowadays, I think I would like  
to shop for a pair of shoes.  
It's been many years since I did,  
for shoes have become a symbol  
of what I can no longer have.  

Booted and braced and insole-d,  
I'm grateful that I can walk  
short distances on flat terrain.  
Foiled by lack of cashflow,  
footwear rarely requires much thought—  
the same pair of Clark's size 5½ ankle boots
have adorned my feet all day,  
almost every day,  
for three whole years.  
The leather is worn, paper-thin  
and there are holes in the heels.  
 
But shoes are now beyond me.  
Hiking is in my past,  
as is walking as a form of transportation.  
I can no longer run, or climb,  
or write, or cartwheel.  
I cannot put weight through my arms;  
any form of skating is a health and safety hazard,  
as is trying to step over a puddle  
or around an obstacle.  
The ligament damage took my balance,  
so I am held up by boots and luck.  
My pain dictates that somebody else  
sometimes needs to put my socks and boots on for me.  
 
Most people do not know any of this.  
because I am not ready to admit  
that I might be disabled.  
It is a secret part of my life  
which I prefer to conceal  
behind teaching, music-making,  
parenting, reading, fundraising,  
swimming, writing, learning.  
 
Do not acknowledge what I have lost -  
I rarely do -  
and do not pity my life's complexities.  
Rather, celebrate what I can do  
and manage to achieve  
between two jobs, on four hours' sleep.  
I would rather be strong, capable and Disabled  
than able-bodied but weak,  
but that is going to require a mind shift;  
admitting who I now am,  
asking for what I need  
and making permanent changes.  
 
Still, maybe then I can buy those new shoes.