Bird Song

Bird Song Ruth Mowry As a girl, I admited the pointed shoes with three-inch heels my mother wore because my father loved them. She submitted utterly to him in biblical hierocracy. Unlike the waddling church women in dark, utilitarian shoes — hers shimmered in pearlescent hues of the rainbow and every shade in between, with rhinestone buckles or little molded bows, embroidered birds or cut-out sides, with stylized heels, sometimes ofsee-through acrylic. Thirty years ofthose shoes resulted in Hammer Toe: Several toes deformed, bent at the middkjoint, like claws. I was proud ofhow classy she looked, not embarrassing in a polyester dress and Hush Puppies. No hairnet, plucked sweater, or slip showing white below her skirt, like the under-side ofa bird's wing only partly tucked away. She conducted the choir! her arms and hands arched in a wide span like the Winged Victory while her invisible toes were pressed and layered in rows shaped like the little hammers under the lid ofher piano. After service she greeted church folks, God's messenger with sonorous voice, and her toes, like the beaks ofbirds struck their own song ofsubmission. "Oh, Mother" they sang from far away "we could have been spread in the wind like the foot-wings ofMercury, but instead our life was corralled, 27 28RUTH MOWRY compressed like carbon under pressure, sculpted and faceted for the good of God and man." Now my mothers diamond toes are on display in my memory, a shining prayer that we all might follow the Greeks and rule ourselves, even as we worship what is beautiful. ...