In the back of my closet,
Behind my winter clothes,
Beneath a softened cardboard box,
Hide the remnants of my favorite elf shoes.
Discolored from too many coats of enchanted polish.
Curled toes gone limp.
Scuffed and scarred with memories─
A walk in the rain,
A stumble,
A sweet sidestep,
A magical dance.
Yes, once these were magic, but
One lace is broken, the other frayed.
Wrinkled.
Worn.
Comfortable.
A package of new laces protrudes from
Inside the left shoe,
A distraction from the hole in our sole.
And the right heel is worn-over:
Altogether
Inappropriate.
I keep the shoes secure
In the back of my closet,
Safe from the shoe police.
With them rests the small hope
That some serendipitous convention will require
Me to wear them for one last dance.