There’s a pair of sneakers by the door too small to fit my hand inside
velcro straps instead of laces bright with colors I’d have never tried
back when shoes were just for walking not declarations of arrival
not announcements that the house has changed that silence isn’t survival’s
only option anymore that mornings come with noise and urgency and need
that I’m responsible for more than just myself for what I choose to feed
into this world for how I shape a mind that’s starting blank as driven snow
the hallway looks different with those shoes there like evidence I didn’t know
I’d leave like proof that someone else exists who needs me functioning awake
who’ll measure their world by my reactions every choice I make or break
I’m learning how to walk again how to exist with someone watching
how my rhythm shifts to accommodate these patterns interlocking
with routines I never planned for with responsibilities that stick
those new shoes by the door announcing life got endlessly thick
I used to measure time in weekends gigs and records I’d been meaning to spin
now I’m counting months by shoe sizes by the gaps between their grin
and the next meltdown by how quickly I can learn to navigate these exits
with someone else’s naptime with their feeding times their limits
now I’m calculating constantly what leaving costs what staying buys
how my freedom intersects with someone else’s urgent cries
the shoes sit there like a question mark like are you ready for this shift
from autonomous to tethered from your time being yours to give as gift
to someone who demands it without asking who assumes you’ll meet their needs
who’s right to assume it who you signed up to provide for when you breed
I find myself walking quieter trying not to wake the sleeping
trying not to start the cycle of the crying and the keeping
score of who got up last night who’s turn it is who’s keeping track
of every bottle every diaper every moment of the slack
I never thought I’d live inside a world measured by a tiny shoe
but here I am rearranging everything I thought I knew
the house smells different now like milk and something warm and unresolved
like every plan I had before has slowly been dissolved
into this routine that repeats that spirals over and over
over every calculation every plan I tried to make
those shoes remind me there’s no going back there’s no mistake
I can undo no reset button just this forward march through days
that measure time in milestones in development in phase
transitions that I’m supposed to celebrate supposed to document
supposed to find heavy when really I’m just spent
from the constant vigilance from being watched from being needed
from having every solo moment interrupted or exceeded
by demands I didn’t ask for but accepted when I chose
to bring this life into existence into hallways into those
they’ll outgrow these shoes in months I’ll save them in a box upstairs
with all the other evidence of how our life repairs
itself around this presence and pretends it’s always been this way