There were her converse sneakers, mottled black and white, unspectacular but loved, worn away by city sidewalks and the floors of friends' homes.
There were her high top hiking boots, their treads locked onto dirty ridges and pebbles, pulling her up the hills and mountains.
There were her high heels, lifting her off of office carpets and escalators, taking here someplace higher in the world
There are a dozen others, all of them still lined up in her closet.
What the fuck can you put on her to wear in a casket and keep her feet off of padded silk?
Let her go barefoot, we said.