Barefoot
Carnal fear rises in me at the thought of stepping into cold mush. Wet, cold feet make me think of disease, pestilence, suspiciously slimy floor tiles of shower rooms of public swimming pools. I see the frothy spittle after hearing the hack-and-gather that are its precursor, charge it up; it lands like a slug with leprous boils on the muddy unpaved walk. To see children walking barefoot, rickshaw wallahs, women with weighty sacks balanced on cerebrum …
He held my hand like father to son. With the drink in him he struck his beloved wife, held back only by his practiced daughter. He was ecstatic when the IV dripped color back into the tenant’s eager face.