Dead Man's Shoes

Dead Man’s Shoes They were leather. Black, brown, and green. He wore the best, as his feet were his weakness. He had strong arms, strong legs, a grasp of iron, and could run like no ones business. not from things, but to things. The rest of his clothes, old, worn, and mended. Not his shoes. They were nice, and well cared for. His wife missed him so. She missed her hero, Her man of the hour. She missed things, she did not know, she missed. The shoes, were packed up. Not quickly, but with precise and specific meaning. They were taken to the shelter. Not the thrift. They were given to strangers. They would never know, “him”, but they may someday, know “Him”. That was just enough hope, For her…to let go.