Rough skin

The skin on my heels is weathered and tough,

cracked from the pressure of standing, and rough

to the touch of a finger, a thumb, or a hand.

I could make it smooth again, as I’d once planned

to pumice, and wear at the wear I have made

and yet, it seems that I’d rather it stayed.

For every callous, each sharp flake of skin

is there because of the places I’ve been.

Or just as the total result, day by day

of living my life and trudging the way

to home, work and nursery, there and back

in steady foot rhythm, a heartbeat or tap

of the world’s heavy fingers that beat out my life

with rhythmic precision, as mother, and wife.

Though the skin on my heels is cracked now and worn

I ask you to cast not aspersions or scorn

on the person who quite simply chooses

to live with the skin that she uses.


2 thoughts on “Rough skin

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