Day 9..Walk

"Once I dreamt of a form of poetry created by the sound of feet walking in the grass."-

Cecilia Vicuna

..by the sound of feet on grass,

if I could find it, my feet on paving,

sound of ground and breath . Yes,

I can find my feet,

I can hear my tread - imagine grass

beneath and when I reach it,

shed my city shoes, careless,

the electric happens-

nerve and blade and fuse

connect alive and make

a beaten track, wild

through the woods back home. Yes,

green grass and sound and I

know music

2 .

This is how we walk now,

the seeds of grass are buried eight feet deep

under the concrete- cracks

appear. My bones ache ancient

from all this hobbled walking-

heel toe heel toe heel, so I

and my chiropodist collide,

we disagree on methods:

why do you walk like you're dancing?

She asks, now she's a choreographer,

Feuillet marks on Hobart paving,

glass teeth means en pointe; it ends up

crippling. Ancestors ghost my muscles,

like relics of old saints, and we step

side to side, on tiptoe, creeping

up to Death like happy little hunters.

Nanopowrimo2021