R.E. Slater - Six Words

Six Words

by R.E. Slater

The box was lighter than she expected.

She carried it to the kitchen table and set it down gently,

    the way you do with things that once mattered more than they were allowed to.

Inside were the shoes - soft, impossibly small, the color she had chosen

    because it reminded her of mornings.

She could not remember the exact moment hope left.

There had been words spoken, machines fluttering and pinging,

    a steadying hand on her shoulder. After that, time fractured.

    Days arrived without meaning and left too soon.

She tried once to give the shoes away - but failed.

She tried to throw them out - but sat on the floor and cried instead.

These were the hard days. The days that never ended.

So she wrote out a small sign and leaned it against the box.

    For sale. Baby shoes. Never worn.

When the buyer came, they did not ask questions. They never do.
    Money changed hands. The box with its belongings left the house.

That night, the rooms felt a new silence - not emptiness,

    but something closer to waiting for something without expectation.

Corners remembered names... that were never spoken aloud.

The air held its breath... as if a future had paused in the hallway,

    and forgot which door to close.

When morning arrived, it apologized for the light that strayed inside.

Days passed - but she could never ask the  future to explain itself.

    She only left the child's door ajar - in case something unfinished

    might find its way back home.

Somewhere - not here, not now - there were a pair of shoes

    that held the shape of love without knowing where to walk.

Quietly she turned the light off, and the silence of the house held its breath -

    not abandoned, but not complete...

as though a story had stepped away from another room,

    and decided never to return....

Together they sit,

quietly, side by side.

Once, a small promise,

now, unmoving, still.

The buyer had imagined

warm, restless feet,

learning the floor,

its hardness,

its surfaces.

A someone once

believing in tomorrow,

who could bend down

in tender care,

and be picked up

in hugs and kisses.

Now, neither today

nor tomorrow

held any sound.

Only the silent shoes,

waiting,

lifeless,

loved,

grieved,

never to speak.

by R.E. Slater
January 13/17, 2026

@copyright R.E. Slater Publications

all rights reserved