I have long toes.
When I was 10 my childhood friend used to say “if I cut my toes off I would be a size 6”. After all these years I finally agree with her. I would be a size 6 if I cut my toes off.
But the toe with the utmost significance is my inherited big toe which my mother blessed me with. Many times I left socks with the eye of a needle. Every single pair of socks I owned eventually had a hole.
But my big toe is beautiful. Wide, round, and brown with three horizontal lines. I think I have beautiful feet. I’m not sure if the person who owns the foot is supposed to be the judge of that. But no one has ever compared them to shriveled up baby carrots or complained whenever I wear sandals.
I am a shoe lover. But my big toe hates beautiful heels because they suffocate and squeeze her like a grape. My mother and I are both shoe crazy (She more than me). As a child I would always put on her heels and practice walking like a woman because I just couldn’t wait to be one (Silly me).
My baby feet grew up learning how to walk like my mother. Toddling behind her at first and then soon treading the pavement right beside her. My mother’s strides were much too long for me and I had to catch up. But ten years later I realize my strides are now quicker than hers. She has taught me well like a lioness trains her cub to conquer the wilderness.
Thanks Mom. I love our big toe.
It reminds me of how far we’ve come and yet to go.
Apricot leaves fall to the ground as
Disfigured clouds cover the sun.
The air feels more grey than blue
Though trees remain fluorescent.
Squirrels scurry saving seeds.
Stealing from my mother’s sunflowers.
It was warmer in October when
An orange blanket covered the sky.
The moon was a pumpkin
Revealing it’s loneliness at midnight.
Schools of sweaters swarm the streets with
Rubber boots pounding puddles.
Umbrellas stretch across sidewalks
And frigid winds embrace my body.
My nose turned red.
This hazelnut latte warms my fingertips
As steam escapes to hug my face.
Why is it that
I can hear the ticking of the clock
From across the room?
When the clock is its own entity of time
I shouldn’t be able to hear its business.
Why is it that it’s duty affects me so?
Why does it spin in a circle?
To make me dizzy?
Under its compulsion
I’m driven insane.
By time that ticks
Saying “yes” is terrifying, because that means I’ve made a decision.
And making a decision is like signing a contract in black ink with a quail pen like in the 1800’s.
At least that’s what it feels like in my complicated brain/world/mind. <- see what I mean? There was no easy way of explaining that.
But I’ve said yes to creating this blog because I have so many ideas, poems and stories in my brain clawing it’s way out into the real world.
And I’ve decided to put them here because I believe they deserve to exist.
So welcome, and I hope life allows you to come back to visit my imagination. 😌