The Footprint

There's a footprint in the snow outside my bedroom window. It is simply one footprint, there is no pair, there is no pathway. It is in the center of a field of white. I don’t know whose it is, and I don’t know how it got there. It is much too small to be a footprint of mine, and it is much to lonesome to be the footprint of anyone in my family. I do believe it is the footprint of something inhumane. 

 

Perhaps it was the carnation of love stepping on to my property to check on my soul while I was asleep. Perhaps love said to me “I do not exist in the flesh. I am unattainable by anything you could buy; anything you could find or take. In fact, I am something that scarcely can be found when looked for. I come to you; you must just grab me and give me quickly away.” Perhaps she told me that she was in my life, that she was coming for me, knocking on the door of my soul and I simply refused to let her in from time to time. Or perhaps she came to tell me that I was selfishly keeping her hostage in my mind. That I was depriving others of her joys. 

 

It is unclear which direction the footprint is facing. Perhaps it is the footprint of something coming towards me, and perhaps it is the footprint of something leaving. Perhaps it is the footprint of the man, Doubt. Perhaps he walked away from me as I shut off my mind to allow myself to write; to allow myself to explore the possibilities of actions that lack a clear outcome. Perhaps he has had enough of my cries to break free of the bars that he has placed in front of me, and therefore he left to hold another victim captive. Perhaps, however, I am the victim. Perhaps he is not leaving me, but simply entering me. Perhaps he is the one who took control of my fingers and began to type this sentence. The doubt in my mind that he himself walked away from me is evidence of his existence in me yet. But perhaps he did not just enter my body, perhaps he was with me from the beginning. 

 

The footprint therefore, may belong to my dearest friend. My friend that I can only pray will never leave me for good ...yes, the footprint belongs to my one true love, the Idea. The footprint is simply the Idea, however, the print is directed away from me. It belongs to the Idea that has walked away, and left me by my lonesome. I am grateful still, that there is only one footprint walking away, because when she returned, she was many, and they were flying home to grant me a voice. 

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741