Looking closely at the photo,
I would say I was about seven or eight,
my head tilted far back
to see the top of a tall redwood tree.
My dress, red and sleeveless,
is tied in the back with a large bow,
but what interests me now
are the moccasins on my feet,
beaded at the toe
with white laces,
red to match my dress.
I remember the smell of the leather,
the softness,
the multiple pairs I owned
in different colors,
and most of all
I remember the ones in turquoise blue,
tucked neatly under the motel bed
in Albuquerque, New Mexico
on a cross-country road trip,
carelessly left and forgotten
until the following night
in Oklahoma City
over five hundred miles away.
Over sixty-five years later,
I still mourn those moccasins,
new and supple,
bought with the promise
of a summer vacation
and left abandoned.
