march on, cowgirl

 

Pumps ain’t the knee high stilettos of

Cosmopolitan glamour,

Smack.

Click.                           

Slam.

They are boots not so much made for walkin’

But actually for talkin’, harpin’, and raisin’ hell.

A no-nonsense Kansas farm girl with an

Attitude to boot-

Literally.

The holy-

And I don’t mean Jesus-

Worn shoes were just that, though,

Hers.

The rawness was real,

The stubbornness like unchanging dusty leather

They offer protection, a force shield,

A firm blanket for the ideal of

Marchin’ around as she damn well would please.

Her body can’t wear those boots her legs don’t work she’s lost her mind

So I wear the boots instead

And with a

Smack.

Click.

Slam.

Her cowgirl spirit moves forward.

boots

*

This piece was inspired from a recent writer’s workshop at Lighthouse in Denver, Colorado. The method employed in this exercise is known as “Ekphrastic Writing” which pulls sensory, emotion, and description from a tangible piece of art – a photo, picture, painting, you name it. The photo above features a postcard of cowboy boots. Expecting to right a fictional piece about a Texan, I was guided instead, to channel energy from the cowboy boots I wore for almost 4 years that belonged to my late grandmother, Jenny. 

*

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