Poem 8: Self-Portrait as a Flip Flop
Self-Portrait as a Flip Flop
I’m poised and ready for this confession:
I prefer to be barefoot. In summers, I’m often
searching the house for my sandals, like some do for keys –
I kick them off the second I come to a standstill. That’s why
I am a flip flop. I’m as close to being a barefoot gypsy
dancing circles on the grass around a campfire as can
legally be done in the 48 contiguous states.
I remember being turned away from a night club
in Western Australia because I lacked a back strap. This
from the folk who go barefoot in grocery stores and pharmacies
(where my cousins can be purchased in a variety of colors
and styles for a reasonable price). I don’t want to be separated
from the earth beyond one slim layer of suede or a cushiony
ethylene vinyl acetate yoga mat insole with arch support. Truth is,
I wanted to be dolphin, to feel water cascading off my slick back
the way air slides off us when breaking a wave into air.
I got the short end of that stick and was designated
to be footwear. No worries. I make the most of what comes my way.
Or I make the least, in my case. I want to be the least encumbered
shoe I can be. I provide the largest area of the feet I protect
to be caressed by sun and air, even puddles, if we’re lucky
and get rain. When I was in grade school, we kids learned
a bunch of new songs each year that we sang in a program
for our folks, all lined up in bleachers on the stage. One year
for the grand finale, we sang “Don’t Fence Me In,” and
boy howdy did all seventy of us kids belt that one out
from the soles of our feet straight out through our lungs.
That’s me. I can’t stand to be fenced in. I let my dogs
be as close to unshod as can be and still technically be “shoes.”