February 2025
Bio Note: Wisconsin Poet Laureate 2017-2018, I am the author of eight chapbooks of poems. A second, full collection of poems, Ripple, Scar, and Story, was published by Kelsay Books in 2022. Since moving from Wisconsin to southern California, my poems have taken on a much "warmer" tone.
Orange Shoes: 1969
Every time I see a photo of something in orange, patent leather, I think about those shoes I bought on the way home from work. We lived in San Diego, and I had to go through downtown to change busses. Those shoes almost glowed from a store window. They called to me: bright orange Maryjane’s with square toes and blocky heels. I was entranced. My new husband wasn’t. Growing up with three brothers, I guess he didn’t understand women sometimes liked pretty things. I guess he didn’t understand after he told me he hated everything in my closet, I might want to buy something new.

The Singing Nib
Some pen nibs are like that, willing to sing for you, like Tony Bennett as you write uncertain words across a page. Ballpoint pens that pass across paper, move like slugs sometimes leaving sticky plops of ink behind. They don’t sing; they drone like broken fan blades. Felt tips don’t sing, either, nor do gel pens. They’re too slick for crooning. Fountain pen nibs sometimes vibrate as you write, encouraging you to say more. Sometimes it’s a screech or a mild-mannered squeak. Sometimes it's a feedback loop, a melodic “I get a kick out of you!”

Ophthalmologist
It must be inconvenient as hell, to be a doctor, dentist, or nurse and be so frightenly beautiful, so good-looking that patients stare in awe of your face, your hands, your stature because height goes with tall, dark, and handsome. You, wearing, Onitsuka Tiger shoes, me, wearing the same kind in pink. We are meant to be. You, with brown eyes, mine, brown, too, but slightly cloudy. You look deeply into my right eye as you sit behind your laser gizmo. My vision will improve, you say with each zap of light, yet, all I can see, now, are stars.
©2025 Karla Huston
Editor's Note: If this poem(s) moves you please consider writing to the author (email address above) to say what it is about the poem you like. Writing to the author is what builds the community at Verse Virtual. It's important. -JL