BEAUTY IN THE ORDINARY

My left foot fell off today. It snapped off. It snapped off like a dry dead twig. It happened when I was drying myself after a shower. I said, oh fuck, when I looked down at the bathroom floor. There it was, my foot. There was no blood. There was no blood coming from the foot or from the end of my leg. It hurts to bend down but I knew I had to. I bent down and picked my foot off the bathroom floor. The foot was as cold as ice. I put it on my lap, transferred and pushed the commode chair into my bedroom. I transferred onto my bed and sat there a while. A sudden gust of wind blew in my bedroom window. It was a southerly and it sent goose bumps down my right side. I asked myself how I would cope now? I did not answer myself. I was glad. That’s the second sign of madness. I wondered what I should do with my foot? Everybody knows that you should put it on ice. My left foot already was ice. I pulled myself onto my bed. I took the foot and placed it where it had fallen off. I pushed it as hard as I could against the leg. I placed it there and thought of faith healers priests and preachers who heal the dead. There is some feeling in my foot. I said it as I let go of my foot. The foot dropped to the floor. I picked it up. It was covered in lint and tiny brown pieces of tobacco. I ran my hand over my foot and blew on it to get it all off. I saw lint sparkle. The sparkling lint made me remember that there is beauty even in the ordinary. I decided to say it again but aloud. I held the foot against the end of my leg and said, there is some feeling in my left foot. I held it there for as long as I could. I held it so tightly against the bottom of my leg that it was making my arms hurt. I said aloud, my foot is my foot and it is a part of my body. My arms and hands would not let it go

Andrew Stuart Buchanan