Winged Sandals

Shoes line the hallway. A procession of leather, canvas, plastic and rubber. Each pair holds the memory of feet, arches pressed, toes curled, bones shifting.

Hermes, the winged messenger, steps lightly among them. His feet the shape of movement.

muscles and tendons
the whisper of balance
and pain

I remember playing football as a child. The first match of the season. New boots and blisters. Mine were black boots. Nothing special but I loved them. Dad told me to wear them in the bath. Surgical spirit and elastoplasts.

Shoe designs change. Blisters heal. Footwear and foot care don’t always go together.

shoe shop shrine
women sigh
and ease off their heels

Hermes leans against the counter, unseen, his sandals glowing faintly. Every shoe a temple, every foot a prayer.

fallen arches
hymns of leather
sung to the sky

Paul Conneally
Loughborough
16th December 2025