Stepping From the Shadows (2013)
“On sidewalks, in gas stations, rising on escalators, disappearing behind closing elevator doors, on top of telephone poles fixing lines, driving trucks, poised with pencil in hand to take my hamburger order. Smiling or unsmiling, with bald heads, flaccid bellies, brown hands with a hard tracery of tendon and vein, dirty nails, clean, buffed nails, muscled forearms with faint lines of blue at the crook of the elbow, where the rolled sleeve fabric ended and, in shadow, the naked skin began.
Feet. They walked across the pages of my writing. Big, splayed, calloused feet, long, tanned bony feet, saints’ feet out of Renaissance paintings, elongated, mutely expressive. My father’s feet. Christ’s anguished feet. Pale feet, like hothouse plants, that shied away from the sun. Wild feet, brown all over, that pounded after Frisbees in the surf. The Stagman’s feet, crushing violets in my forest, leaving prints outside my windows, at my threshold.
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