Arts Alive San Antonio

As promised last week, we are publishing today Part 2 of the Ekphrastic Poetry Contest organized in honor of National Poetry Month. The poems included here were inspired by a sculpture on the grounds of the McNay Art Museum, a striking piece of art made out of shoes. Yes, you read that correctly, though you may not spot the actual shoes at first glance. Titled the The Sole Sitter, it is the clever work of artist Willie Cole.

ADULT WINNERS:

6:37 P.M.
By Amy Lewis

This is the gravity of the day.
Melting in place between lock and dinner.
A self,
Solidifying, sliding in shoes too large.
body and space a loose skin refilling with a hiss.
Night is for melting back into shape.
And tomorrow you will awake, recognize your own reflection, and there will be the meditation of
standing up,
of doing quiet tasks while the coffee brews or teapot rattles,
so many things contentedly bubbling.
There will follow the meditation of closing doors, of key clack.
And soon the contortions and shrinking
again.

Sole Sitter I
By Bett Butler

In these women’s shoes, creased and scuffed,
patent leather turns to bronze patina;
shins take shape from chunky heels
of platforms and stilettos worn by disco divas.
drag queens. Young girls teeter, falling, ankles sprained,
spines misaligned by the tyranny of fashion.

                Denied the podium and rostrum,
                are these the only platforms they’re allowed?

Kicks
By W.A. “Bill” Coggins

Acrobatic shoes, walking hands
Leather treks cross, stiletto sands,
Nigeria, Ethiopia, in high heels,
Eyes kick around, rubber soul fields.
Frozen bronze blues, clogs in green sky,
Spirits of Africa, answers to why –
Mary Janes stumble, futures begin
The ghost of a smile, the upside of a grin.

YOUTH WINNERS

Footprints of Knowing
By Theo Crump

Let me settle into the soles of your shoes
and taste where the bottoms have touched,
drink where your mind
has made a home of the ground

Let me caress your stilettos,
and peel off the remains of the hearts
you’ve made a footprint

Let me pick the birdseed and pain
from the divots in your soles
and show me how they build consciousness.

The Cabinet by the Door
By Catherine Day

Her memories are stacked by the door,
Piled and heaped, scuffed and worn.
Nicotine-stained, chunky-heeled visions of adolescence,
Sharp, polished images of professionalism,
Quiet slips, soft nicks of self-reflection.
They wonder after her, and the life she’s given them-
Which of them will she wear today?
The ones she is most comfortable in?
What about the secluded ones,
hidden away for the day she truly needs them?
And what of the ones consigned
To a life of being forsaken, not forgotten?

Waste
By Catherine Day

Thump, Thump thump
They drop like stones
One after another, down they go
Into a form of wrinkled brown patent leather skin,
and crippled pink polyester heart,
and unused, disfigured plastic soul.
Th-thump, th-thump, th-thump
Here’s another, another not wanted, not needed
Because there are millions-, billions-
Of whole, perfect specimens right above
Ba-bump, ba-bump, ba-bump
So all hail the rejects, the non-perfects,
As they mold a solemn, lonely figure
Forever wondering why they weren’t good enough
To make it off the assembly line.