Accepting the Loss of Winter Boots

They're not in the closet. I've already looked thrice.
Under shoe boxes, unlaundered quilts and a vacuum,

spiders scamper good luck. My black pumps
are the reliable ones like Mum's tile brush. Perhaps

it is time for spring cleaning: under the bed,
last year's sandals hibernate with dust bunnies.

Perhaps there's a bright side to soles: it's almost
pedicure season, time to awaken open toes.

Chrome-red polish tickles. The boots will turn up
when I'm not looking, like ex-lovers who've had

too much to drink. By then, I'll have a new pair.

Arlene Ang