walking on air.

three years ago,

my toes were snapped

in half.

under medical supervision,

by bones -- malformed --

were molded into perfection,

fixed.

replaced.

when i walk down city streets and

concrete,

the arthritis within my flesh begins to

creep.

crawling slowly up my legs,

curving around my hips

as i begin to

limp.

give my body seven days of

freedom.

from the pain,

the cramps,

the discomfort.

my toes would dance and float down sidewalks,

over bridges,

through the air.

i'd be weightless.

i'd arch my toes

barefoot

in the park grass,

like a natural ballerina.

i'd dance.

i'd sink my feet on the beach in coney island.

digging into the

wet sand,

feeling no rocks, no shells,

i'd sprint.

when morning comes

i'd leap out of my bed,

my feet following my body with ease,

no cramps,

no numbness,

no pain.

i'd be free.