Ode to Feet

Feet

calloused and cracked  

like rocks 

in plowed ground, 

like stones 

in turned soil, 

the soil 

walked over 

barefooted 

with donkey and plow. 

Feet

of the old abuelo, 

that walk

up and down 

the rows 

until his feet 

are broken and bent 

and make him 

continually genuflect

to God, 

the wealthy land owner, 

and to the land itself. 

My feet 

are broken and bent 

like that.

My heart, too.

My heart is in my feet.

When my feet 

are in the soil,

it is

as if 

they are part 

of the land, 

as if 

they hold the secrets 

of the earth, 

as if 

they know the mystery 

of how seed 

and dirt 

and water 

can become 

beans

in pods,

kernels

on ears

of corn. 

My heart 

is in my feet, 

my heart 

is in the land, 

my heart 

is the mystery 

itself.

My feet speak, 

"Estoy aquí, 

I am here, 

estoy aquí." 

My heart

is a sign

to the world - 

"I am 

a human being." 

“Estoy aquí,” my heart whispers.

“I am here.”

- Trevor Scott Barton, Brown Eyed Poems, 2021