Insoles Poem by Anna Aguilar Amat

These are already too small for you now. I slip
my fingers in and feel the soles
of your feet, the negative both of a time in which
we were always together and also of the days you
will live through when I disappear. A future
modelled for us by orthopaedics, the heaviness
that's made you walk as a stranger to my
footsteps. Tread my failures underfoot
as though they were steps of an ancient
wisdom, because they are the cabin-trunk you can
always sell to a passing carrier.
Tell him you've lost the key, that
they can pay you according to the weight; if they think
that it's too light, say that it's maps; if they think
it's heavy, precious stones. And afterwards
travel as far as you can, climb right up to the summits. Drop
a coin or two in the forgiveness box. Every bit you give
will carry you that much further.

Translated by Anna Crowe