Washing My Feet Your tiny toes waved at us through the ultrasound monitor. A few years later in the twilight of evening, when I was cleansing you in the womb-like water of a bath, I dipped my cold feet in to warm them. You took one into your hands and began to wash my dirty, stinky, ugly, old feet. Washing them clean from the journeys of the days. Thus, our nightly ritual began: A loving mother’s care rinsing her young daughter’s hair. A child’s innocent touch, refreshing her tired mother’s feet; Baptisms through simple acts of love. I, your disciple, having my feet washed by your purity of spirit- -You’re a young woman now. I sometimes watch your bare toes wiggle as you lie on the couch reading a book. Sometimes they wave to me; Unknowingly. And I wiggle mine; Remembering; Gratefully.
Lisa Molina lives in Austin, Texas. She has taught high school English and theatre, served as Associate Publisher of Austin Family Magazine, and now works with students with special needs. Molina’s poems can be found in Trouvaille Review, Indolent Books, Ancient Paths Literary Blog, Tiny Seed Journal, Beyond Words and The Poet- Christmas Anthology 2020.