An Ode To My Vans

An Ode To My Vans

Your warm denim hugged my feet

as I trudged through the dense forest,

my Canon strapped around my neck.

The sun peaked through the vibrant trees,

creating a mellow brightness.

Twigs cracked beneath my feet,

as the aroma of dried leaves

settled in my nose.

You helped me sneak out of my house for the first time,

providing me with comfort. I closed the creaky door

behind me, and darted to his car,

darkness wrapping me like a blanket.

He drove sixty miles an hour through the twilight,

windows rolled down, hair tangling in both of our mouths.

You were there when I nailed tent stakes into the ground,

then strung two green hammocks between trees

overlooking the bright blue water of Lake Michigan.

Tiny grains of speckled sand

pooled in through your holes,

and the wind whispered through the trees,

lulling me to sleep.

I wore you through the prison of Alcatraz,

and to about a hundred bonfires.

You were there through fourteen different states

and the first time I drove a car,

heart racing, hands sweating.

You’ve survived a plummeting

negative twenty degrees,

roads slicked in grey slush,

and two feet of glistening snow in the driveway.

You’ve survived thick brown mud

and pouring rain that soaked me to the bone.

Yes, you have seventeen different holes.

Yes, you pinch my toes.

Yes, your soles are worn out

and yes, your denims’ faded,

but I think I’ll keep you.