by MJ Iuppa

My numb feet float in this pool of blue water. Dragonflies

flit about, dipping down to sip a drink and disappear with-

out touching my red toenails. My wrinkly feet once belonged 

to a mummy named Hatshepsut, found wrapped in a tomb, in

the Valley of the Kings; and not too long ago, I realized that

my feet were her feet that once were anointed in oil, in the

Egyptian moonlight that mirrors the face of her wet nurse who

was buried in a coffin  alongside her sarcophagus; yet, I sit here

on the ladder and stir my feet underwater and lament, wishing

my feet could travel and trade as they once did, defying men’s

regard of women with status. You think I should pretend not

to know what I know; that I would be better off not protesting

too loudly in the ears of men. Certainly, it would make them

less suspicious of all the things I tolerate. My numb feet

haven’t stepped out of this pool of blue water.