Ode to Toes

Silly little poem

I love to wiggle my toes.
With morning coffee, warmth flows—
from the tips of my ears
to the ends of my feet.

When feelings rise like ocean swells,
I ride them out in quiet spells.
I ground myself from heel to sole—
a small but sacred, steady goal.
I feel the floor beneath my feet,
its solid whisper, calm and sweet.

This is why I love my toes.
They’re dainty things, in tidy rows.

They’re further than my hands, by far,
but closer than reflections are.
The mirror shows a distant face,
and my toes are proof I still have place.

I love them when he pulls them near,
with kisses soft, without a fear.
I love them when they hold me fast,
through heavy days or shadows cast.

They hold me up—
no need for show.
I love my toes.
They always know.