Nice Ugly Toes
Who could not love someone
who is so delicately honest?
And I do. But
I love my toes, too.
And, well, hell: nice?
Nice is a flower, maybe upholstery.
My toes are like those cars
Uncle Jimmy always drove—beaters,
as the phrase is. Seen some miles,
not much taken care of,
adequate for the purpose.
Hammered, dented, some missing parts,
you get the picture.
So me and my toes are sitting at the edge of the prairie
enjoying the view
and the woman who said that is two years dead,
her ashes scattered in a garden not
ten miles away. And I want to say to her,
“Ellen, stop looking at my feet. Look up, Ellen,
the sun is sliding down the sky,
and the light is coming through the wildflowers,
and the light is everything I always wanted,
by Danny Rendleman, first published in Stepping Into the River Once
Editor’s Note: This poem’s opening leads the reader to think that it is about a disagreement, when instead it is about love.