The Ground Beneath My Feet
The ground has shifted,
a mix of roots and time and shoddy foundations,
and now, all these years later,
the sidewalk is no longer smooth.
There are holes and a ripple in the bricks,
an angry stream more than a placid path,
a different kind of beauty than its builder intended,
an obstacle course of history,
each flaw part of the beauty.
There is no making this perfect,
no now. Too much time has changed the landscape
beneath the stones.
There is no starting over without killing the roots
of others. You are left with the flaws.
And so you beg forgiveness.
You ask for grace,
and walk the path,
irregular as it is, aware
as few others are, that each step
is a lesson in history, ugly
and beautiful, both.
About this poem
At 62, most of my flaws and failures are out there. So are the good things. It’s been a messy journey sometimes. But still, a journey worth taking.
The picture was taken in Savannah, Ga.