Melanie Lynn Glotfelty
Summer Youth in the Barefoot South
he pavement, still warm,
pushes hard
against small toes and heels.

Long, beautiful weeds
catch unspoken dreams,
presenting them proudly
to the breeze,
which tosses them aside
for another day.

It's all about the pavement now,
never giving, littered
with unseen rocks
that stab
and prick
and scrape naked feet.

But small toes
know nothing
of blood,
and bare toes
know nothing of stopping.
They pulse
even when red.


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