“Mama, where do your toes go

when you go outdoors?”

“Why child, they are with me wherever I go,

so if I go out,

so do my toes.”

“But I thought I heard them talkin’

when you were outside.”

“Oh yeah?

And what did they say?”

“They said—

My, my…

your mama done left her toes inside.”

The Case of the Talking Toes

I remember…

She sat at my feet like time had not yet learned how to hurry.

And for her it hadn’t.

The image of her at my feet is still so clear in my mind.

Legs crossed, questions ready — as if the everything was a mystery to be solved before supper.

“Mama…” she said,

serious as scripture, “where do your toes go when you go outside?”

I laughed— the kind of laugh that comes easy before you know what’s worth losing.

“They go with me,” I told her,

“wherever I go.”

But she shook her head, certain of something I could not see.