The Sidewalk on C Street
by Sheri Flowers Anderson
The imprints of small shoes are on this sidewalk, the fifth square from the stop sign where C Street crosses Brent. Just two little sneaker sole outlines, maybe a little girl. They might be mine, but I’m not sure. I haven’t lived around here for years. What I think I remember are my father’s rough hands, how he lifted me over the rope that told him the cement was wet. Make your mark while the world is soft, he said. Now I think he may have been drinking and wanted to leave something behind, make a statement, a mark, but not his own. Or maybe he wanted to teach something about fatherhood, memory, time. Or maybe he was just drunk. Green grass pushes through sidewalk cracks even now, no big deal, as if all these years that cement remained a soft wet gray. As if all these years my father encouraged me, as if all these years this footprint made anyone other than me stop and wonder.
Sheri Flowers Anderson lives and writes in San Antonio, Texas. Her work has been published in Sixfold Poetry, Atlanta Review, Pensive Journal and other publications. She’s the author of a poetry collection entitled House and Home, winner of the Naomi Long Madgett Poetry Prize. When she’s not reading or writing, she’s watching random You-tube videos or TV movies. More info at https://linktr.ee/sheriflowersanderson