The bottoms of shoes:
The most basic things
That no one wants to touch,
But everyone brings.
The bottoms of shoes,
And moist underclothes,
And memories of wounds,
Old afraid-to-let-go's—
That we worried weren't proper,
And imagined others seeing
With a look of quick disgust (
Every bleached-perfect being).
Brushing tension up our forehead,
Curving shoulders like a shell,
Setting us opposite of blooming,
Shaming our fragrance—“Oh! I smell.”
Yep!
Touch the bottom of your shoes.
Breathe your shirt in. Know that this
Is the earthed air every skin wears,
the perfume that “human” is.
And that time we felt a laugh break
All our tension into tears,
Until our guts all moved as one shape,
And our shamed minds disappeared?
Live toward that. I breathe from you
The earth you are, like me.
There's dirt and dew on every foot
And flowering face:
come be.
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