by Angela Luevano

Created on: February 12, 2010

I’m Mad at Those Boots

 Attending his funeral, my sister, my daughter and me,

mine and my sister’s dad being laid to rest, it’s so hard to believe

that my daughter’s grandpa couldn’t play with us anymore,

the piercing sound of 21 shots fired, my baby sister’s tears falling, fast and hard.

He loved his Harley boots, still cleaned and in their box

I told my sister that someday down the isle she would walk.

Her daddy would still give her away, with those boots under her wedding gown!

We cried together and hugged before I finally had to leave town.

Less than four years later, attending her funeral, my daughter and me

my baby sister, my daughter’s aunt and friend, so hard to believe

that God would take someone so young and full of life,

the pain utterly unbearable, much worse than the slice of any knife.

Before my flight home I gathered up my things

I had no room for my dad’s boots, home I couldn’t bring,

nor the gown that never existed, she never married, never had a baby,

I’m so sad, but then again so happy, that we’d become so close lately.

My uncle was to send those boots to me, I told him there was no hurry,

“I’m sorry I haven’t sent them yet” he said later, but I knew they were safe, no worries.

I got to thinking today, well, you know, I’m mad at those boots!

They never did what they were supposed to do!  I don’t want them! An internal dispute!

And then I imagine her wedding, my daughter and her fiancé.

I’m standing, waiting to watch her walk up the isle on this most exciting day.

My daddy’s granddaughter, my little sister’s niece, my baby girl, so hard to believe,

that finally she’s all grown up, as beautiful as she could ever be.

She’s smiling but teary eyed, walking heavily toward him and trying to ignore

the clumping of those darn Harley boots across the granite floor.

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