LOS ZAPATOS ELIANA LUKE | Poetry Mi madre compra mis zapatos, wearing holes in her own to earn my pair. They encase my feet as I run far from her. Despite the distance, when I am running I think of my mother and the blisters she hides. Worry while I run, run to worry. I wonder how much she worries about me seeing my new city in these new shoes, running far from her, far from the reach of her shadow. I am not enough like her, even though ella dice que siempre está orgullosa de mí. Es de ella que todo el mundo debería estar orgulloso. This is something my father forgets. I worry he does not understand my mother’s language, cannot walk in her shoes. They are together, but not a pair. I am proud of momma Ella es alta y fuerte en la etapa. Her voice is the one I hear most, singing and cheering things I do not understand. Like in church. She is holy and brave and strong. But he wants her to take off the men’s shoes and hide her feet in the house slippers of a mother. In this new city I hide, knowing the sacrifices she makes for some shoes. No one but me seems to be proud of her speeches and activism that pay for our food. He resents every single pear that rolls when it falls out of the basket on the table. He sees holes in the fruit where there are none, holes in the daughters that are too much like their mother. When I have a hole in my shoes, she buys me a new pair, with every step I am proud, hoping to earn it like my mother. I will no longer hide in her shadow of the árbol de pera, running far away filled with love.