Vol 11, Num 10 :: 2012.05.11 — 2012.05.24
Painted metal with room to spare
for more pairs of sneakers and sandals,
I await their arrival in my magic space,
the hall which transforms our guest
from outside, front-porch acquaintance
to inside, living-room friend.
I wait in the place between outside and in.
The guest at this bubble-thin threshold will pass
from the cool air of surface acquaintance
to the deeper warmth of friend.
The guest sees me and hesitates,
for shoes hide dry and calloused soles
and the holes and threadbare spots in our socks.
But vulnerable is what they decide
and I get to know their shoes.
From the scent of treads and insoles
and the look of their laces
I know they have trodden
on newly mown grass, on gum-dotted halls,
on a sun-scorched asphalt parking lot.
They have walked through a morning
argument and lunch-hour stress.
But here, the guests choose to remove
their shoes and walk barefoot
on the holy ground of friendship,
for the souls in this home
walk barefoot, too.
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