The Red Shoe

Lost in the long grass garden

somewhere amongst clover,

at the foot of the buttercups -

one red shoe.

As I persuade the tired dirt

from determined hands, flannel

chasing salt-streaked cheeks.

She is fighting the dusk.

I soothe and snap in turns

as I push and pull her

in and out of cotton tunnels.

Buttons cursed and done.

Finally, cradling her head

on my breast, where she once fed,

we pause, and agree

to find the shoe tomorrow.

Painting - 'Emmie and her Child' by Mary Cassat

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