02 February 2008
Oda a los calcetines
Ode to a pair of socks
Maru Mori brought me a pair of socks
that she knit with her shepherd's hands.
Two socks as soft as rabbit fur.
I thrust my feet inside them
as if they were two little boxes
knit from threads of sunset
My feet were two woolen fish in those outrageous socks,
two gangly, navy-blue sharks
impaled on a golden thread,
two giant blackbirds, two cannons:
thus were my feet honored
by those heavenly socks.
They were so beautiful
I found my feet
for the very first time, like two crusty old
unworthy of that embroidered fire,
those incandescent socks.
I fought the sharp temptation
to put them away
the way schoolboys put fireflies in a bottle,
the way scholars hoard holy writ.
I fought the mad urge
to lock them in a golden cage
and feed them birdseed
and morsels of pink melon
Like jungle explorers who deliver a young deer
of the rarest species to the roasting spit
then wolf it down in shame,
I stretched my feet forward
and pulled on those gorgeous socks,
and over them my shoes.
So this is
the moral of my ode:
beauty is beauty twice over
and good things are doubly good
when you're talking about
a pair of wool socks
in the dead of winter.