Bare Feet

Prompt: my own body.   So what about you? What can you do or not do? What can you remember you did, and still do it in your dreams? Fly as a toddler? (I did down my grandmother’s stairs). Roll in the mud as a four-year-old before they could stop you? Pitch a ball so fast no one could hit it? Think senses. Feel, touch, taste, smell, hear.

I just had a full knee replacement a month ago, so I am coming back to Earth from Planet Pain. Getting out of my anesthesia haze, and remembering I have this blog.

More info: I have been an amputee (the other leg) for 12 years. So maybe something I miss the most is running around bare-footed all summer as a child, and through my teens. When you live near the beach in the woods, you just shed your shoes. If you can.

BARE FEET

What I miss:

Sliding my bare feet through gooey wet mud

out on the clam flats. moosh moosh.

Feeling slippery earth squelch up between my toes.

Squishing by feet back and forth, searching out

the rounded shells of the quahogs and cherry stones as they try to hide below surface.

What I miss:

Running down the dune and across the sandy beach

over the stones at the water’s edge and diving

headfirst into a big wave.

Swimming out and then turning to body surf in.

Put your feet down and stand up

before you are dashed upon the sand by the next ocean comber.

What I miss:

Running fast barefoot, down pineneedled paths on full moon nights.

Jumping over the roots, we know where they are,

then dropping towel and trou and diving into the effervescent water of

a glacial pond, liquid shimmering silver.

Staying underwater to escape the mosquitoes- and swimming naked like an eel.

What I miss:

The walk back on the sandy road,

still warm from the afternoon’s baking sun.

Seeing black and white and tones of gray under the moon.

The rustling of the silhouetted oak leaves overhead,

the energy of the living earth coming right up through the soles of my feet.

Every pebble and pine cone jarring my being,

stimulating me almost to death.

I want to escape my own body.

Take off running. Stubbing toe but ignoring that, run faster, run as hard as you can through the soft sand.

Arrive back at your campsite, don’t turn on your flashlight.

Climb into your tent, zip it up fast against the flying blood seekers.

Snake into your sleeping bag. Count your breathe to 100 and then start over.

Sleep like a rock. I miss all that.