Learn to identify plants, flowers, and trees

sole’s rubbed off
at the heel.

Conrete eroded
with miniscule fangs

scraping away the shore
of my sole.

It’s no wonder; however,
too much leather for my feet.

I always tried to wear
shoes too big.

Clogs, slimy Boston clogs,
losing sole to my oyster toes

on the avenue night, the pot
of academic soil I never filled.

Now, I save you for rainy days.
You sit there like a pair of deflated

wet petals, pansies hanging
over one another, dead asleep.

Fast quick strides down
the hall way.
Lights
on off
on off
on off.
Motherbird calls,
“Your breakfast
is ready.”

I hear her
kitchen thunder,
pans, pots,
cling, clang,
throng.

“Wake up,
You’re making
me late.”

I stumble on
wobble legs.

Thump thump
thump thump thump,
her feet like
my pulse always
working, building.

She would walk
like she sewed fast
and repetitive, accurate,
a machine—intricate,
bold embroidery.

There was a certain
grace when she
would be observing atmosphere,
something for which she
did not allot time.

Then, she would look
at all the jagged
and gothic architecture,
the strange and the opposite
with a crinkled brow
and ruffled feathers,
sometimes letting her legs
finally slow and extend
like a stork yet disliking
what she did not understand.

In this pose exactly
as a little girl,
I imagine she used
to observe and smile,
perhaps even resign
to a little giggling.