She is a doctor.
The bare ground is her floor.
The leaves of the trees are her ceiling.
The good earth is her hospital.
I limp to her.
I sit.
I peel off my soaked boots.
My feet have been bruised by the rocks and stones of the earth.
She washes my feet.
She gently washes away the dirt.
She tenderly rubs salve on the wounds.
Her hands work to heal me.
I leans forward and kiss the top of her head.
- trevor scott barton, Left Foot Poems, 2022
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