MY
MOTHER’S
FEET


Withered, wearied
Ripped and torn
My mother’s feet
Were rough and worn.

For they had carried
Future’s weight
Engraved by God
Her pregnant plate.

No money for
The perfect fit –
So when in pain
She’d pray and sit

Until her purpled
Blood would race
Body, soul
Varicosed in grace

And though so wearied
Withered, torn
Emeralds fade…
‘Fore feet so worn
.


Long-Skirts
St. Louis, MO