A Simple Shift

Footprints of a life on my chest, suffocating me.
heavy souled boots.

I lie on the floor looking down at my body
and up at you. Immobilized just for now.

Forty years. Forty steps.
and I still love.

I roll over, use the strength
of my arms, and raise myself.

I am one and always one.
I am still beauty, still.

In nothing but a simple shift,
I stand before myself. and begin.

I walk with the conviction
of someone freshly robbed
and lightly beaten. Like someone
testing each piece of driftwood on the beach
for  before going forward. I walk
not needing or wanting to look back.

I am new and always new.

I am.

not the footprints of a life.