Moon Feet

Red's Wrap

My sister had perfect feet.

She might still have perfect feet. I have no way of knowing. Well, I suppose I could know if I spent some time scouring the obits in the town where I think she is or was living.

My sister’s feet were perfectly proportioned like two artist’s models of the perfect foot, the toes beautifully arranged in descending order, the nails always trimmed straight across, and the ivory skin on her feet flawlessly smooth. There was no blemish on my sister’s feet, no hiding or apology.

We shared a bedroom until I was 12 and she was 18 and then she went away to college. Her bed was under the window that opened to the backyard. It was also the window from which one could see the moon. There was no such window on my side. My window was over the dresser, near the closet, so…

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