pilot/cemetery song that became spoken word.

i am accross the street from the cemetery in bare feet i walk all 
alone big sky up above he looks down on me, just a speck in his eye 
as he looks down on me just a girl in bare feet he don't know i got 
two bucks in my pocket and that i said hi, to passerby, and sang to 
myself with my hands in my pocket, two bucks in my pocket, spirits 
walked hand in hand around me and all he knew was i was just a speck 
in his eye as he flew in the sky overhead the cemetery i was all alone 
singing this song that i just wrote to myself briefly pausing to say 
hi to passerby as i walked all alone in barefeet and long hair 
trailing after me he saw nothing but a speck flowing across the 
cemetery over which he flew he never knew that i was singing 'bout 
him, to myself, and the spirits that overheard as they walked hand 
in hand with me so i was not quite alone as i walked home in barefeet 
with two bucks in my pocket he lost track of me as i disappeared in 
the trees singing to myself about a pilot i knew but didn't that will 
fly home tonight and not think a second thought about a speck with 
long hair and barefeet in that one cemetery and he won't know i sang 
to myself about him as i walked home, nor will he know i was not quite 
alone as i walked home for spirits walk hand in hand beside me as i 
quickly stride after sunset growing dark in the night / it's dinner 
time in my home but i'm not there i'm walking in the calm cemetery 
alone almost blind headlights in my eyes as the asphalt under my feet 
meets my skin i am pierced with sin of sinners who walk hand in hand 
still alive that say hi as i pass them by not singing for a minute 
for they ought not hear this song of pilots and feet that are bare 
nor long hair or spirits hand in hand that keep me from being all 
alone during my walk home.  i could fly should i desire to grow wings 
and be alongside that pilot up there in the big sky who looks down on 
my little girl walking barefoot in the street to an unlocked door and 
finishes her ice cream cone singing to herself, he don't really know 
that i am me and he is he, all he knows is that there's a speck down 
there and for a moment he forgets that he drives a ship he calls an 
airplane, to a destination that's inevitable.. he won't crash, he'll 
land just in time to go home for dinner, that's right but he'll eat 
all alone alongside spirits he don't see that keep him company because 
sinners stick together at least until they ditch each other, i still 
just sing to myself but now i am home and i keep it in my head so i 
can type it down and share it with my friend, the one who reads this 
file right now, yeah, you, did you know you were my friend?  are you 
surprised that a speck with bare feet who walks all alone in the 
cemetery could be anything more than a child with two bucks in her 
pocket and no shoes to keep her from being pierced with sin or being 
pitied by sinners who say hi since i'm just a passerby with no shoes 
on my feet and slightly tangled meter-long hair that sings to herself 
in public not caring that she might look odd with hair in her armpits 
that can't be seen beneath her japanimation emblazoned shirt and of 
course hairy legs in pajama pants and not a shoe not even socks on 
feet, just bare skin, naked toes that asphalt must meet, and dirt 
shoveled away to make graves so soft like slightly wet bread, they 
don't know there's a man flying overhead, they never paid attention 
they were never aware about anything but conversation and politeness 
to passerby.  
Once, on a similar trip in the morning, freezing cold asphalt under
bare feet, kind old strangers said hi, even though i wore a black
cloak and wore no shoes, an old couple went out of their way not to 
cross my path but one kind lady became a friend for a morning and
told me her life story, for some reason a police officer pulled up in
the cemetery, looked at me speaking, smiling, kindly conversing
with an old lady, snug in my cloak, even with bare feet, i pretended
not to notice as he tried to ponder why a young lady could look
like a witch with no makeup or boots and speak so kindly and gracefully
walk with an old lady he didn't know was a stranger to me, i liked
my barefeet an old man asked if i needed shoes, and i told him i
was just fine, that i liked to feel the earth, he smiled and walked
on, old german kind lady spoke of her husband's escape from communism
as a german in russia who just found the bible and placed his faith
in God, a beautiful story, i felt so kind, i felt so blessed, to
feel this kindness, witchy looking girl with a pale unmade face friends
with an elderly woman, kind, slow, steady, like the tortoise.  like
me, i am a tortoise, in another universe, somewhere in my consciousness
i exist also as slow and steady as myself, even though i seem so
chaotic, alone, singing to myself, in the same cemetery that i live
across the street from in smoggy, ugly california, i find some sort
of solace amongst spirits, knowing that i am just a speck with long
hair and barefeet that avoid anthills and know the sensation of dead
grass and grave-dirt, my eyes look up at the big bluepurple sky, i
don't need to keep my eyes out for my feet, i already know that my
path is clear and laid for my, so i close my eyes in the setting sun
and walk once again after it's become dark, once again, all alone,
repetition so obvious, i sing, eat ice cream, alone in this, the 
cemetery of long walks in bare feet at all times of year, cartwheels
at midnight with friends who no longer are friends, of wearing spooky
black cloak, of always having long hair in this town that is so small
and feeling no cold on my toes or my nose although i'm underclothed, 
and i have to go offline for a phone call that may not come.

1-21-2000 - ©2000 Katrina Kidwell Johnson