I recognize two of the women
sitting near me as regulars.
Do they recognize me?
Probably not.
I don’t seem to be memorable.
I once passed a woman on the street
for whom I had been her only wedding attendant,
and she did not know who I was.
though I haven’t really changed that much,
I was just somewhere where she didn’t
expect to see me.
But I knew her far from her neighborhood
just by hearing her voice.
And another time when I saw her feet
in a hardware store.
She brought that up one time,
“would you know your own foot
if you saw it somewhere else.”
Of course, I thought.
And apparently hers as well.
Fifteen years after the fact.
She was not so sure.
I don’t know why,
she has rather distinctive feet.
I guess we all do.
But my face – well,
people used to always tell me
I looked like somebody else.
I think sometimes it’s really true
that there are only six of us,
which is why I guess
we need to know
our own feet.