FOUR POEMS

Barefoot

I learned the world through the bottoms of my feet, barein the creeks of summer, stepping on pebbles, the squidgeof moss between my toes. On hot asphalt, the hop and skipover cracks, feet already toughened by bramble, dirt, the pricklyground of pine needles. Callused and ready to roam the rough hallsof July, of August, of early September, through acres of blackberryand bristled fountain grass, the spiny clumps of cocklebur,and foxtail. Through clusters of quartz, agate, feldspar. Small,black ants crawled over my toes. Fish nibbled at themin the skinny creek. It wasn’t summer until I’d been bitten,ankles pocked with the raised bumps leftflea bites from Toof Toof the cat, who liked to roam the fieldthen settle back on the shag rug where I’d sink my toes into the plushpile before rambling down to the beach, the fine-ground sand,cutting myself on loose shards of glass left by broken beer bottles,sharp-edged shells that dug into the fatted flesh above my instepas I skimmed for washed-up bits of abalone, oyster, clam,side-stepping the glutinous bodies of jellyfish, past crusted bulbsof kelp, their long, tubed stems buzzing with flies. Sometimes,the body of a dead seal, the peppered fin curling into itself in the heat.Back on the grassy slope, I’d marvel at how I could feela gopher stir underground from yards away, that slightrumble in the earth. This was foot-knowledge, heel knowledge,knowledge of sole and arch, that domed curve, vaulted nave,everything that entered there, sanctified, holy.