Poem: Weary Feet

By Kelly Van Nelson

shoes illustration

Weary feet

walked the street,

home to school without the beat

of a mother’s heels trying to keep

me from straying along the track

along the back

of the allotments growing weed.


Temptation never came to fruition

for fear of taking the heat

from the back of her hand

in a red raw streak

across the cheek

of a young face bleak

from invisible tears.


They were clad in brown,

faux leather Derri boots,

trailing footprints in the snow,

even though I had no place to go,

because running would have been no mean feat,

when I needed to survive, not face defeat,

by putting myself onto the street,

even though it had a welcome mat at the door,

waiting for me to wipe

the ice cold slush remnants from my

weary feet.



Kelly Van Nelson

Elanora Heights, NSW



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