smooth like a criminal
Leather is not so strange a material to see,
To feel, to smell.
Functional in its use as my sandals.
Brown, a deep dark chocolate sort of color.
They were suede, once, or a kind of rough version
Of leather. Now they have taken on a
Sort of soft, supple texture.
My feet feel them, caressed by this new texture.
Frequent usage expected, lengthy travels appreciated.
The straps have remained the same, binding
The feet to the sole. The under-sole, that which
Takes a beating from the elements so the feet
Don’t have to, the soul of the shoe.
Thin, gripping, protective like a rabbit’s foot,
But so much more effective.
Feeling the thong that touches all parts at once.
In the writing, I have thought of the places
They have taken me, the people I have seen while
Allowing my toes to bask in the atmosphere.
I must apologize to my sandals, they have never
Felt snow. But they have felt hundreds of grassy
Fields, hills, dirt from all locales, sun, rain,
Perhaps even a little bit of hail.
They have felt what I have felt, the presence of the divine.
The most resounding of feelings, love, in a
Completely physical submission. In a darkened,
In a darkened room of sorts, the furtive whispers
And professions of this abstract emotion, the manifestations of such
Emotion. My sandals were there.
Rejection, heartache, betrayal, desire unrequited,
Impatience with love, reciprocation, frustration
With love and loving. My sandals were there, they felt it all.