The ground is my floor.
The leaves of the trees are my ceiling.
The good earth is my hospital.
One by one, my compañeros limp to me.
They sit.
They pull off their battered boots.
They peel off their soaked socks.
They show their blistered feet to me.
Their feet are the feet of the good earth.
A brown eyed compañera sits before me.
I wash her feet.
I gently wash away the dirt, until her feet are cool and clean.
I rub salve on her feet.
My hands work to heal her.
She leans forward and kisses my forehead as I work.
- trevor scott barton, brown eyed poems, 2021
No comments:
Post a Comment