Thursday, October 16, 2008



I saw your foot
move into my frame,
while I sat motionless
beside the bed of an invalid.

Cry for me,
your foot said,
cry for me!

I have walked around
the earth three times.
I have cut me in half
on the bone of a whale.
I have balanced on the
backs of sweating men.
I have been severely bound.
I have waded through nuclear ash.

I can’t cry for you,
I said,
at least you are a foot!

Suddenly, your soiled rags
could be seen beneath the curtain.
You picked them up with your toes,
as if your toes were fingers;
and one by one you
buried them beside you.


Rick said...

Lovely, lovely work!

Sarah Hina said...

The curtain separates, when there's nothing left for anyone to give.

This was truly gut-wrenching, K. You have a talent for imbuing the most glancing of characters with the sharpest poignancy. One action--one foot--can summon the weight of a lost humanity.

I have cut me in half on the bone of a whale. is so good.

trooping with crows said...

I have balanced on the
backs of sweating men.
I have been severely bound.
I have waded through nuclear ash

What a profound relationship with this foot. Some of the time you can know something of a person by the appearance of their hands. But you found that something in their foot. I'm sorry to use a word like "creative" but, I am honestly amazed by your gift to turn observations into these manifestations!

rosetta said...

from your very being you write,I truely hope this was not someone close to your heart,if so I am sorry for you and their loss.

K.Lawson Gilbert said...

Rick - I appreciate your stopping by. It was a nice surprise to see that you follow my blog. I will stop by to visit yours. Hope to see you often. Glad you liked the poem. ;D

Sarah - I appreciate your very kind remarks and compliments. I love to read how you interpret my work - that is poetry in and of itself. You are very incisive. It is always a pleasure.

Trooping with Crows - You make me blush with humbleness. Yes, I did assume a lot about the foot, didn't I? Perhaps poetry allows me to turn notions about what I see into concrete images - suppositions into reality, if only on the page. Thanks for your keen observations and praise.

Rosetta - I do write from my being. So many things effect me in a million ways. And - thank you for your sensitivity and compassion. <3

Rick said...

Had to come back by and read this again it was so moving.

K.Lawson Gilbert said...

Rick, What a flattering comment - thank you. I feel so fortunate to have such appreciative readers. ;)

blue possum said...

K, I'm not that good with words, but I am very emotional. All I could ever say is that I love your poetry. Everything you do moves me beyond words.

K.Lawson Gilbert said...

Blue Possum...what you have said here is enough to fill my heart to its fullest capacity. You are very good with words and expressing how you feel. If you only wrote "I love your poetry" - everytime you visited, that would mean the world to me...and more - because I know it would be the truth. I truly love your visits. <3

Anonymous said...

To be beyond the reach of sorrow. Deeper than sorry. That's what these lines spoke to me.

That indeed is a dark, dark place. When even sorrow is inspired to pick up its shattered pieces and bury them in silence.

K.Lawson Gilbert said...

Jason...I love the lines in your comment. They sound like the last lines of a novel. Thanks you for them.