Day 27: Pobject's left sandal

Was this sandal lost, or left behind in haste?

Whose is it? Does it belong to

Odysseus, bound for Ithaca, or to Christ, lost

in the midst of fleet-footed ministrations

to threadbare lepers?

And why the left one – I ask myself –

is there some theological significance to

this sinister circumstance?

I am older now

than Dr. Lopez was when he explained

how if we were to build a computer encompassing

all of everything (every you and me, every random daffodil,

every Oxford comma) it could help us peek

under tomorrow’s hood.

That dog won’t hunt, not barefoot, besides.

Maybe the left one was just too snug?

Left sandal

Day 2: Lobject's left sandal

Sandals beneath the Shore  

A single sandal is a young boy waiting

still, hopeful for dad by the backdoor

a fishing rod and promise of September

Another left sandal beneath the shore

A single sandal is a new mother sobbing

stillborn, heaven, so sorry, we can’t do more

mouths move without hearing, nothing is clear

Another left sandal beneath the shore

A single sandal is an old woman grieving

still somber now as decades before

when teenage love drowned the river

Another left sandal beneath the shore