At Josh and Amanda’s wedding

we held hands. My third
baseman fingers: stiff,
calloused, wide,
wedged between
your piano fingers:
long, slim, energized.
 
My fingers wiggled
when Josh washed
Amanda’s feet. They
longed to bathe
your ballerina
toes.
 
But when Amanda
removed Josh’s
socks, my feet
squirmed inside
my Sperrys.
 
I imagined innocent
onlookers react to
the exposure of my feet:
 
“My God,
that boy’s
got the feet
of a Hobbit.”
 
The crowd
would scatter
at my deformity,
and Aunt Meg
would snap
photos, drinking
the opportunity.
 
And with only a dozen
family members left,
loyal in their pews,
I wonder if our hands,
feet, lips, might still
declare, “I do.”

Through the 3rd Eye was supported in its inception by the Grand Rapids Humanities Council and is currently made possible by continued volunteer effort and private support. Copyright 2013.