Tattoo artist unknown
Photo by Efrain Gonzalez
                                                       Chaussure [1]

We compare thighs.  The way they look like necks slowly curving into the doorknob base of the knee.  
Then your calves against mine.  Yours muscular until they reach the high heel.  The dark leather in
contrast with your pale Russian skin.  The stories of your parents finding you in your mother’s things.  
Inviolable pastels.  Intimacy built of polyester.  Things smelling of moth cakes and your mother’s
perfume.  Things with wings attached.  Smells that are female.  You told me once I smelled of pencil
shavings.  That you hadn’t washed your hands after we'd made love.  That once I left, you went to
shave and smelled the pencil sharpener that was attached to the wall in your third grade class.  The
voices of the children floating above the sounds of metal grating on wood.  And you, the musical boy in
the corner sharpening everything to a fine point, eyes closed and fingers on the crank.

                                                        Erika Moya

[1] chaus·sure (s̸hō sür′); noun pl. chaussures -·sures (-sür′); an article of footwear; shoe, boot, slipper, etc.
Etymology: Fr < chausser, to shoe < OFr chaucier < L calceare < calceus, shoe
Hear Erika reading her poem.
Copyright © 2009 Erika Moya (poetry); Efrain Gonzalez (photography). All Rights Reserved.