by Glen Martin Fitch
My mother taught me
how to clip my nails.
Just one more parent's duty
I suppose.
Self-care creates self-worth
with such details,
and how you treat yourself
shows in your toes.
She had a nail, I know,
that went astray.
(It's funny how kids
never miss a flaw)
I clipped away
and suddenly
one day
same nail on me
had curled by nature's law.
Today I noticed
that one had turned black,
but when and how it bruised
can't recall.
It had to have been
quite a nasty whack.
It's weird
I don't remember it at all.
Though,
while in three month's time,
it will be gone,
the mystery of what and why
goes on.
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ABOUT THE POET ~
Glen Fitch is a 16th Century poet lost in the 21st Century. Born near Niagara Falls, educated in the Catskills, thirty years on the Monterey Bay he now lives in Palm Springs. Retail not academics has paid the bills. Someday he will finish Spenser's "The Fairie Queene."
Last updated August 24, 2011