• Katie Frieheit


There is a reason our feet have soles.

They allow us to move about gently

In this jaded world.

Here I am,

My sacred ground.

Feel the warmth of concrete,

The grit of sand between toes,

And cool dirt buried in the underbrush.

Food for the sole.

Planted feet grow roots,

Complacency is their elixir.

Dance to taste new cuisine.

Run for famished feet.

As days go by, we bump and bumble about

Bruising the softness of our bodies.

But feet grow calloused

And speak

of where we have been.

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