I felt like Mary Magdeline at the feet of Jesus.
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She, I bathed her feet. Soaked them in a warm tub of water
with some good soap.
I dried her feet and legs
and lotioned them and rubbed them and put on her feet a nice pair of warm socks. And then I rubbed her feet again.
He, when the nurse came to see him she mentioned how dry his legs were
-checking for any swelling in his ankles-
Later, I asked if he would like some lotion on his legs-
He said "My feet. They are so dry they hurt."
I asked if any of the doctors or nurses at hospital had seen his feet,
and he said, no,
he'd kept his socks on the whole time
out of embarrassment.
I removed his socks and soothed his aching feet. I replaced his dirty socks
with clean fresh warm ones.
Twice, I thought of my childrens' beautiful toes-The same way I slipped their socks on,
scrunching the sock up with my fingers to slip over just the toes,
and then slipping the rest over the ball, the instep, the heel;
adjusting the ankle so,
making sure the sock was comfy.
I thought of how I'd kiss my babies' toes, and blow raspberries into their soles.
Me, the family black sheep,
the ner'-do-well poet, radical, freak-
at the feet of two I do worship.
Despite what lack of me is constantly the subject of conversation-
they knew the love this daughter has for them.
Like a few other moments in my life
I felt the godliness-