In the Time of Shoe

You have all the time you need,
claims my friend who embraces Infinity.
Fourteen months ago I'd have
junked him:  one more nut-case.
Infinity, eternity, afterlife, soul --

simply not in my lexicon. Nor is
leaping into the unknown (with the
embarrassing exception of parenthood).
But now I'm thinking, why not plunge? 
Though I never liked placebos: 

It's said I could fling a teething ring
across the room like a regular baby Ruth.
I clutched no blankie, no food-stained doll
dangling like a dead third hand,
had no imaginary friend.   

I did have a favorite stuffed animal:
Twinkles.  Left him in a shoe-store.
Maybe that sealed it.   Death by
lost not found, or simple theft.
Maybe my mother didn't have

all the time she needed. No binky for me
for fifty years.  But as to my friend:
he makes so much sense otherwise,
and there's the worm on the rod.
I'm thinking of being reeled in, a la

everything's fishy, but so what?
Twinkles is surely sawdust now, but his
particles are not nowhere.  We have
all the time we need, he and I,
at least in the world of shoe.

Julie K. Shavin 2009