Footprints White Sand

is there an edge which does not cut,
which is not cutting

ledge to venture out upon without shoes
and not get your feet cut open,
in between your toes torn open even more
on the cutting edge

bloody toes, bloody feet, out on the cutting edge

bare foot, instead, let’s walk the beach,
miles behind us, in white sand,
stretching back to where, to when we began
footprints in white sand

who able to tell if the man or woman
who passed across the bosom of the beach
had black feet or white feet,
Arawak, Carib or Tino Indian feet

the sea at high tide, with its rubber, erases
the past, the path of whoever passes
across these shores

Columbus and his men did not step
in wet cement


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2006
4:00 p.m. 18/march/06