LISTENING TO YOUR FEET

LISTENING TO YOUR FEET

My toes are tightly encased

but I feel the shuffle of dry leaves

over the tops of my boots

through the hard leather

through the wool socks

through even the cotton beneath I press

my toes against the layers to catch the

secret.

It's sad to hear

these leaves tumble

crumble into dirt

their veins still visible.

Greg in med. school

took me to see his cadaver once all its

muscles and sinews quiet

as he showed me which tendons pulled

which joints

made this person go this way,

or that.

This person, I thought

This person, no, I thought

I can't think of it.

Outside the hospital

on the sidewalk, the leaves were

scattering.

I couldn't move my toes

even to listen

without thinking of each tendon.