Ballet Slippers

Ballet Slippers

lying on the side of the road,
soiled and soaked
with memories of dance class,
the silk ribbon ties
blown by the wind
reach out to the past –
when they were so alive.
a spot of blood smeared
from mud and tears.
an imprint of the tire
that devoured gracefulness.
I pick them up
with reverence,
knowing they once held life.