Foot to Ground
Someone gifted me a pair of brown shoes
in last night’s dream. A simple act
weighted with untapped meaning.
The way we experience birdsong,
not understanding the green language.
Or how gladness is laced with grief.
Nesting robins twine dry grasses
packed with mud. Things stay themselves
while becoming something new.
Inside out, and upside down,
roundabout and sideways, dream logic
plays with us without our minding.
Color of leather, color of dirt—
new shoes start a school year.
The old ones no longer fit.
Heads tilted, robins listen.
Watch for subtle movements of
night-crawlers in wet grass.
My bare toes stretch and contract.
Burrowing worms wriggle in leaf litter.
Feet vibrating, I begin
imagining what’s below this floor,
beneath the basement and earth’s crust
as the eyes in the soles of my feet open.
Rhett Watts has poems in journals including: The Worcester Review, Naugatuck River Review, Spoon River Poetry Review, and in The Best Spiritual Writing 2000. She facilitates writing workshops in CT and MA. Her books are Willing Suspension, The Braiding and The Double Nest.