Each night before I sleep, I wash my feet
As Jesus washed Apostles’ tender soles:
Baptize them in the cleanliness of heat
And whisper holy words from holy scrolls.
To cleanse the sins that angry feet have held
When stormed away in hasty walks of pain
To pardon when one is by pride propelled
To stroll and take one’s powerful stride in vain.
But mercy, too, does tender washing give
When blisters form from work done to survive
When feet alone give means to eat and live
And weight borne on their soles keeps hopes alive.
And so these toes and tendons do I bathe
And in their groundedness restore my faith.
These are all so marvellous! Amazing work, Lucia!
ReplyDeleteHere's a challenge: try something in the Modernist vein...
Here's my favourite:
Day slipped out of the web of her fog-wet gown
and buried her bright face in the pale sheen
of the maple leaves and pushed her fingers down
in the damp moss under the deeper green
of the darkling spruce and found a cool mind
and turned and looked back through the lucent panes
of maple leaves at the sky she had left behind
and traced each pointed leaf and its intricate veins.
Lying there she shook with a sudden mirth
and waited awhile without breathing a breath
and nestled closer into the hollow earth
and knew a bliss that would have welcomed death,
knowing she could not deeper drink delight,
she dreamed there of shadow and of night.
Kenneth Leslie, By Stubborn Stars, 1938