Jane Eliza's dot com
Where I've Been
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
These Feet.
Cupped in your hands
as you sooth away
aches and stiffness
these feet begin to ooze
memories of their journey
through this life:
running barefoot through sparse
grass - bindii filled, prickling, tears falling -
red dust between the toes
carrying a little girl
in a her brother's
hand-me-down shorts.
Squashed into purple shoes
with pointy toes that hurt
but she wouldn't take them off,
this little girl growing:
Barefoot is for babies
and the black fella
who cradles his empty gooney
in the laneway
at the end of the garden.
They knew how to run
these feet
hurdles and races
escaping from fear
wind in her hair
streaming behind
as grass'd ground
sped backwards.
Barefoot and bareback
Old Whitey she rode
to the giant fig tree
to rest in it's shade
away from the crowds
of brothers she'd gathered:
the homeless abused.
The wandering laneways
with friend and guitar,
these feet took her walkabout
through untrodden pastures
'cross fields, over meadows
where highways now rumble.
They took her through childhood,
the turbulent teens,
to rest on the ocean:
a new world to see.
Over the moors
to castles of old,
market streets cobbled -
familiar yet strange
They wandered past beggars
in India
and street sellers
of sugared pancakes
and curries and noodles
in the City of the Lion.
Now these feet
have come to rest awhile.
Boot clad
they stumble up & down
green hills.
Slipper clad
they sit beneath my desk
and whisper their tales
for the telling.
Skyclad and air blown
they soak up
the morning dew
like the lotion you rub
into leather'd soles.
They reveal their soul
these twinkling digits:
remembering
journeys of old
and happy now
to sit, enveloped in care.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Squashed Into Purple Shoes
She saw them in the shop window
you know what it's like:
there they are, and there is
just something
about them: You'd have to have them.
So did she.
They were light purple, mauve I s'pose,
lilac, perhaps;
just flat shoes, but purple!
She had never seen purple shoes
before.
They were sort of long and skinny
and pointy toed.
The coin in her pocket
burned till she remembered
it was there. And there she was,
sitting trying on the shoes
with the shop lady
helping. "You'll grow into them",
she said,
just like her Mum would have.
"You can lay-bye them"
she said,
and the coin felt heavier,
worth more. Worth the price
of pointy purple shoes.
Two shillings the downpayment,
the buying deed done
she skipped off home
to tell her Mum, who
shook her head
and smiled
and tucked away the thought
of paying off her child's
first lay-bye.
They never did fit.
Her feet never did grow
to be that long and skinny.
and the pointy toes hurt
but she wouldn't take them off,
this little girl growing:
Who I Am Where I Come From What I Do How I Feel Where I Am Where I'm Going Where I've Been
