I bathe my Father’s aged, worn, peeling
Nile brown feet
feet that once proudly trod the noble earth
from his island home in the Caribbean
to the island of Manhattan
around the world as a WW II vet and back
these feet are raw with life
patting them dry, gently filing the gnarled nails
even simple tasks like this so hard
for him to do now
and tender touches few and far between
He seems to enjoy the gentle foot
massage with sweet oils
my thoughts soak in rich memories of
Dad’s wise words and honest living
His imperfections, too, a monument,
a testament to one determined
to stay the course, to not quit, despite
emotional, economic and ethnic obstacles
anointing his feet with more oil,
I reflect on the early pain between us
how the balm of Love and Forgiveness
which soothes and softens
all calloused, hardened feelings
blessed us with healing
clasping my Father’s feet in my hands
I bow to his Lotus feet
he was my first glimpse of God and
Unconditional Love