Feet

Poem by Angela Arnold

Firmly grounded, side by side, orderly.
While others dangle
nonchalantly, mid-careless-air, an imper-
ceptible swing to them.

Meeting-still or shufflesome, either way
they truly light up the room

with their God’s-footprint histories,
their sweet colour clash mix of personal stories,
years and miles catalogued
in aches and hard-life skin and the choices
that have grown into wider shoes, self-caring
lacelessness and the odd spotty flash
of outlandish socks – like a late in life demo shout:
come so far, so… well, so there! Friend,
you are welcome.

They’re stretched, they’re tucked, they
may get to do that fleet dance of uncertainty

that says standing is imminent.
And then they have to carry all that weight
of sparse words and more waiting –
but then time is something.

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