Two Poems

Butterfly

The darkest box
of joy

got mold in your basement.
When you found it, dust
made you cough. You opened it—
a rare butterfly flew out

and flexed by the suddenly open
window.

 

Broken High Heels

A cobbler, Oskar immigrated
from Sweden. He died
when I was one. Grown,
I stumbled across
pictures of him
in a drawer
in my grandparents' attic.
They're gone too.

I own no shoes
that Oskar fixed.

He and Death
chat about broken high
heels now, Oskar
showing Death

just the right way
to repair them.