Something about limp pink ceramic appendages makes me uncomfortable. And a hacked-offÂ ballerinaÂ foot is no exception. Even if it is en pointe, caught in the very moment of…uh…ballerinament…before being rudely excised, there’s a certain biology to it that makes it seem out of place, even in the brick-a-brak section.
I tried to stand it up, but it just fell over again.
I don’t think she’s going to be tripping the shelf fantastic any time soon. Since there wasn’t a second one anywhere, I guess it’s a purely ornamental severed foot. Use it as a centerpiece, surround it with some flowers, maybe some baby’s breath or shepherd’s rash or something.
“It reminds us of Donna, how much she loves to dance.”
“Yes…yes, that’s right. Loved to dance.”
Looking inside the foot is kind of a journey of discovery, a well of inky blackness that leads not so much to gold or wealth, though those things may be there, but only as a metaphor for the hero’s ultimate reward of spiritual fulfillment. The journey into the heart of the foot is, ultimately, a journey into ourselves.
Goodwill on 2222 and Lamar, Austin