Thinking of a friend, and the difficult passages we dread but can't avoid. This poem by Jody Gladding has been on my mind all weekend, and goes out to Nels:
Footwork
When Nijinsky died, they cut open his feet
to find the secret of his dance. His bones,
it turns out, were like anyone’s.
With each step, our heels sink that much
deeper into earth. We have
nowhere else to go. Once my mother
crossed and recrossed an entire field
to find my sandal. Now she’s gone;
she left her darning.
: Jody Gladding, Stone Crop
When Nijinsky died, they cut open his feet
to find the secret of his dance. His bones,
it turns out, were like anyone’s.
With each step, our heels sink that much
deeper into earth. We have
nowhere else to go. Once my mother
crossed and recrossed an entire field
to find my sandal. Now she’s gone;
she left her darning.
: Jody Gladding, Stone Crop
[photo: seedhead, 6/23/07]
1 comment:
Oh, thank you. You'd be amazed how much things like this mean to me.
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