For Big Tent Poetry prompt: feet
Whose Footprints Do I Follow?
The father who took me into nature,
taught me to be aware, with side-glance,
of what might be dancing in shadows?
Mother who painted a canvas of footprints
in snow, so real, viewer might feel trickle
of melt as it slid over tops of footwear?
Nuns in black and white habits who warned
against all physical contact, yet taught me
to write way coherently on path to own center?
Others who said there was nothing in head
worth saying, preferred me silent, only nodding
yes, to what they thought was best for me?
Friends, through the years, who offerred a hand,
then let go to follow footprints they felt
it was necessary to follow?
All of these and so many more, but most of all
tracks of soul that whispers of prints still to find,
tells me, “This is the way, follow it.”
Elizabeth Crawford 1/7/11