[pirate witch]: 524.Poetry.My Feet

My feet hit pavement
hard.
Like the rain that falls,
soaking me to the bone.
My hair,
eyelashes,
fingers,
bare feet
drip.
And the scent of wet pavement,
indescribable,
but flooding me with childhood memories,
(the frogs that we caught with chubby hands)
stays in my lungs
even after I become
dry.

My feet walk railway tracks
and burn.
The hum in the branches
of insects that we never see
and the scent of honeysuckle
is thick,
everything sounds and smells
yellow.
Yellow like the sun
that beats down
on you and me as we walk
on tracks
where trains no longer run.
Our feet will be warm
for hours.

My feet dance on hardwood floors
bare.
We whirl in circles,
hands gripping, knuckles white,
as the fiddler plays a tune that I
almost remember.
No one hears me
laughing,
the music is loud,
and we are leaves
going with the wind,
spinning.
We just dance here,
and my feat drum in time,
to the song.