Slippers

   It is a frosty October morning. A new moon hangs in the pale sky. 

And I slide my feet into your old slippers. 

The thought occurs that I don't need to apologize for borrowing them anymore. 

You used to ask me not to take them. They were broken in just right for you. 

I had my own slippers.

But after you died, I threw my own away.

I didn't need them. I had yours. My feet needed to fit in the imprints you left.

So I take a deep breath and open the door,

And though my breath rises like a ghost into the cold air

My feet and heart are warm as I whisper, "thank you."