Look down there on the floor,
See those feet wide and long?
Gripping the worn carpet with rough soles,
Made for going on long secret journeys.
More adventurous than I could ever be,
They trudge up stairs and run down hills.
When I was younger they would dig into the hot gritty sands
of coastal holiday places like Wainui Bay.
Trekking across rocks leaving trails of red seeping
from meeting with rough edged oyster shells.
Their flesh was eaten long before I got here.
My feet have five strong women leading them.
Each longer than the one she stands beside,
Sometimes they all wear red or pink hats.
Once I saw them all wearing purple
wriggling with delight under my favourite skirt.
Sometimes, without asking they surge ahead,
striding out in front of the rest of me.
Tramping streets, river banks and damp bush paths,
they have been know to wave around in deep river water.
At the beach at times dancing through receding waves,
with no interest in what happens at the top of me.
I never hear any idle chatter from them,
but they never leave me alone with my thoughts.
My feet always take me wherever they go,
Even to bed when they are more tired than I.
Visions of Clarity 