"Walking Barefoot in the Dark"

Walking Barefoot in the Dark

This is Texas, and as I creep out from my bedroom window, the grass cushions my bare feet and the warm wind blows through my face.

I am wearing jeans that drape over my ankles and rest on my feet. My skin is tickled slightly by the frayed ends of denim. The shirt I wear is thin and short-sleeved, but it is warm at two a.m.; the calluses on my feet embrace the rough pavement of the cul-de-sac as I step from my yard.

I turn to face the beginning of my street.

It is time for walking barefoot in the dark.

I move forward, distracted by the stars,

(Oh! Did one just fall?)

but search continuously for objects that might ruin my posture, for it could be difficult to walk barefoot in the dark with holes in my feet…

I love it here—where I am. Under my heals, the sting of loose gravel is comforting. I can withstand the pain, for this underground railroad is the path to my freedom…

to my sanity.

Even at

(What time is it?)

two-fifteen in the morning, the sky is pitch black, but the moon is full and my road is paved in yellow glow from above,

(there's no place like home; I am home.)

where the world looks like an ant pile.

Each night, I walk in the same directions, on the same route, but take a different path. Out here, my mind is not in chains, and I think

(I shouldn’t have said that to my mother)

both selfishly and regretfully. Out here, my soul is at rest, and my legs press on

(I am everywhere)

along the uncomfortable, poorly paved road, and I am confused.

(OW!)

(Who needs sandals?)

(Not I!)

I turn at the end of my path; already I am half way to my house.

(I am home.)

The night

(morning)

is filled with sounds of life: a sparrow chirps melodically in the broken oak at my left; crickets line the curb, playing violins,

(My heart beats. My soles scratch the earth.)

and ahead, on the road—

Headlights! And my illusion is broken…

Quietly,

(THERE ARE PEOPLE TRYING TO SLEEP HERE!)

I pivot onto my street. At two-forty, the street light in the cul-de-sac is still awake, and my yellow road

(follow, follow, follow, follow)

is swallowed by a cold orange light. It flickers and I hope for its death.

Far from home now, I approach my window and climb inside. Turning out my bedroom light, I lie in the darkness of the morning.

My body rests.

My feet rest, swollen, growing more calluses…

My mind is awake—

My soul restless—

And my eyes open…

I will not sleep for days.

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