Worn out, dead shoe

And when the shoe finally gives way—

it does not fail all at once.

 It loosens, thins, forgets its shape.

What once held the foot upright

becomes something barely worn, 

a reminder rather than a shoe.

A reminder of all the work you put into

 shaping the shaft that was once hard.

The shoe dies quietly but quickly. 

The demand of the shoe quiets, 

no more breaking of the shaft, 

looking to be broken in and sewn. 

It starts to let you sink, 

Gravity is starting to weigh ⸺

The shoe remains in its dead state, 

with a broken shaft and ripped ribbon, sitting in the bag that's zippered.  

The shoe that once never stood still is paralyzed. 

The shoe that never missed a passe, releve, or jete,  

remembers the motions—lost the motivation. 

As we sit and think about the shoe that hopes for revival 

We think on the heart that hears music but no longer reacts. 

The box that the toe pads disintegrated on 

and the ribbon that supported the foot being walked away from.