I loved this poem when it popped up on Instagram the other day. There are so many footsteps I'd love to hear again, even the early-morning clomps of my mom's Dr. Scholl's sandals as I tried to sleep late way back when. Or the squeaks of our sneakers as my friends and I played basketball in the YWCA gym in my hometown. The soft, pink-padded galloping of my old cats chasing each other in a tiny apartment. November and, to a lesser extent, October are wistful months, and Crapsey's poem taps into that.
The Poetry Friday roundup for November 29th is at the lovely Tanita S. Davis's blog Fiction, Instead of Lies.
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