Sweat like drops of blood

Holy Thursday.

The washing of feet ritual.

Tiny feet, big feet.

Aged old feet, child’s feet.

Black feet, white feet, brown feet.

Soft feet, hardened feet.

Visible and invisible varicose vein feet,

Dead skin covered feet,

All feet mask a story.

Only contours and texture reveal hidden stories.

Knees in genuflection posture and lower back bowed in sacred reverence,

I started to wash and wipe feet weighed down with life’s burdens.

In roller coaster motion, I rose and fell to wash twelve feet.

Like underground water breaking the surface, I felt sweat oozing from my skin and blanketing my heated body.

Sweat pouring from my face and smearing my eyeglasses,

I felt the stubborn resistance of my right knee crying out in pain for lubrication.

But, the roller coaster motion continued unabated.

Drowning in sweat and pain, I remember, I remember . . .

I remember the dripping sweat of my mother . . .

. . . washing children’s clothes with her hands

. . . cleaning house

. . . washing dishes

. . . ironing clothes

. .. and sweat dripping like blood with worry about her children.

I remember the dripping sweat of my father. . .

. . . delivering hardware goods in a sweltering truck

. . . playing mechanic to repair broken-down truck

. . .cutting grass, repairing broken windows, pipes . . . at home

. . . and sweat dripping like blood with worry about his children.

I remember the twin of sweat and body odour of Mom and Dad…

Fragrance and external appearance

Unattractive to the capitalist and vain world

But bearing the label SACRIFICE, not Gucci.

The ritual of remembrance, recollection, re-acting, and recalling

Inspires perseverance to wash twelve fragile feet,

Despite drenched in sweat and riddled with knee pain.

But, it arouses the sacred memory of the

Sweat of Mom and Dad, like drops of blood,

Sacrificial blood,

Serving one purpose,

Salvation of their children.