She Was Called "Shoes"

She never drove a car.

She would walk and walk

the distance no matter how far.

Her wrists were dented from|

bags she carried for miles,

but she never lamented,

nor did she cry.

I remember this well,

the buzzing inner city street,

as my brother and I

straggled along with

our little feet.

Brother would beg to be carried

too. As his little legs would tire,

mama knew what she had to

do.

She gently lifted and placed

him in one arm with great care,

while her other arm and

groceries looked like they

would tear.

As a child, I thought she was

mighty strong. Slender, a

beauty that could do no

wrong.

The years passed…

She continued to walk

despite her elderly age,

as her life turned another

year, another page.

Mama still walked her

childhood streets. Never

fearful of who she would

meet.

Her streets of Cleveland

no longer safe, were now

filled with drugs as she

passed the thugs along

the way.

Sometimes brutally honest,

she stood her ground when

tested by those whose mind

was not sound.

She refused to be intimidated

by those who would balk,

it was the woman they

called “Shoes” who would

forever walk.

Rita Duponty Copyright 2019, All Rights Reserved.

Author’s note:

My mother for a number of years lived in a rough neighborhood of Cleveland. She was not deterred by the elements around her. In fact, thugs and all came to really like her…thus her nickname “Shoes.”

This poem previously appeared on Medium.com