Front end of the day,
Take my elderly mom
To her foot care appointment,
Where professionally trained–
The kindest nurse,
Wendy,
Armour plastic though worthy of forged,
Removes shoes, then the socks,
At the end of mom's pins,
Revealing her well-aged
Ankles and feet,
With calm and care,
Like you would for a child.
Then this goddess of balm,
Carefully
Trims
The
Nails on the toes,
One
By
One,
With gravest attention,
As if performing
This rite,
On Hermes himself,
His winged feet renown
Of athletes and gods.
This is not nothing, this task.
Reframe this routine
As effort profound,
Like tending creation–
Revering a soul,
As Michelangelo
Drew from the marble.
To be clear–
It is the attention here,
The focus of shaping–
Not Michelangelo’s use
Of Hammer and Chisel that
I hope you imagine.
Oh, now, just there!
You see hammer and chisel
Working away on the ends of the toes!
I can tell by the unsettled look of concern
That I see on the face I imagine you have.
I am sorry about that!
So...let’s shift to an image of–
Jesus
Washing the feet of
His disciples;
The scenario
Famously linked with,
Tending of this sort.
So, Jesus.
Forget about,
Michelangelo.
Oh, how is he still here?
Michelangelo,
Impossibly,
Standing by Jesus
Slightly behind and off to the left,
Looking fit and in his element,
In this odd theatre that is your mind!
I suppose saying,
“Forget about Michelangelo,”
Is like saying,
“Don’t think of a zebra.”
Now, worthy Michelangelo–
Quizzes Jesus on his task,
Meanwhile,
The inevitable zebra–
Both a punchline, and a symbol
Of creativity in nature
That we mimic in patterns on pyjamas
And sometimes furniture–
Eats a carrot that our heroine,
Our Wendy,
Consistent and unwavering of character,
Graciously shares from her lunch.
Big surprise.
Jesus and Michelangelo
Argue subtleties in the realm of
Pedicure-based technique,
While Wendy, brave Wendy
Rolls her eyes and shakes her head.
Jesus,
Through this magic,
Washes Michelangelo’s feet,
To prove a point.
Imagine.
Jesus Christ.
The two men stop arguing.
Point-Jesus,
But Wendy refuses to let them
Try out– test-run her clippers,
And instead, fills the sink so
Our necessary,
Bound-to-happen zebra can have a drink.
The two great icons talk sculpting,
Michelangelo’s forte;
Jesus–
Curious about it in curious ways.
They may have talked about death
Quietly.
Wendy finishes caring for my mom whose
Poor senses
Keep her from the drama.
Inexorable zebra chews a shoelace.
It seems so intimate an action,
This caring for–
Can we say,
"Beloved,” instead of
"Client,"–
That I feel the setting should be more fitting,
To honour the players;
The beloved,
And all of the "Wendy’s,"
Those so lovely of soul;
Whose touch might be
The
Only
Touch
From another,
The beloved receives
That day.
Or that week.
Or longer.
I feel that a gallery's worth of art,
Instead of the tired, clinical walls
Would raise the tone
To sublime from not,
To more than a
Maintenance time on a card.
And why not a “David,”
Standing nearby,
As he is,
With his perfect, remarkable
“All-of-him,”
To celebrate better
This sacred.
This Art.
Now, you have my petition.
I must find Jesus,
Michelangelo,
And the unavoidable zebra,
Who it seems have
Boarded the elevators,
And are having races
Goaded by trickster Hermes
Who did appear–
You knew he would,
While we were busy
Parsing out the shortfalls, the
Deficits
Of humanity, in
Real time.