By: Sarah Cash
Red rain boots shine, and jiggle around my feet.
With each down step I stretch out,
feeling the space where my toes will grow.
They squeak when I walk across hard tile floor.
It tickles my ears.
There is a sheen at the round of the toe,
where the light strikes just right.
My beacon on this quiet beach.
I walk in full stride.
Morning rain has muffled the smell of salt.
The earth dries out
and I kick delicate stacks of grit and gravel
built up by the drops of those early showers.
The dirt scatters,
And scratches at the luster of my boots.
I stop short in my sandy tracks.
This polished look won’t last.
Forehead crinkled, I consider.
Then jump heavy-heeled into a shallow pool
full of slime and life.
Her bare toes balance unsure on leather boots
as his heavy feet fall awkward and watchful
step to step.
Small fingers grasp his weathered thumbs.
The room spins,
and lamps turn to little lines of light.
For him, her smile full with tiny teeth stays steady.
Her soft cheek brushes soft flannel,
full with the scent of smoke and cedar.
And at each turn, a glimpse
of grandma, keeping perfect time.
Slippered feet pattering gently on wood plank floor.
Painting on the Kitchen Wall
There is a painting of a girl feeding ducks
on the wall in a white brushed frame.
She is peaceful. Sitting along a riverbank
a red kerchief tied up over her head.
I watch her sometimes
in the passiveness of the morning
when the coffee is hot.
The white brushed frame could be the sill of my window,
and I could lift my hand and wave
to the girl. She would wave back.
The ducks would be startled
in this sudden exchange and would scuttle
off, back to their river across the frosted,
crunchy morning grass.