Today I took my shoes off
during my lunch break walk
Choosing to feel and experience from the
The chill sidewalk touched my winter feet
in ways not remembered
For I was once the girl of bared feet or moccasins with holes,
walking the city blocks, eating sunflower seeds from their shells
Living a freedom I could not articulate,
but somehow knew
Now at almost 60 and many years in
my feet tender and pale,
speak their age
as they notice every texture change in the pavements,
every teeny leaf debris.
As they notice the damp of the grass at a driveway's edge
and the coolness of a dusty bit of earth
As every pressure to the ball and recovered broken toe
is felt and recorded
My feet tell, but I wonder,
what has become of
my young girl's heart?
What became of youthful freedom?