How was
St James' Park,
Grace?
A nurse asks me
as I sit
in a wheelchair
by my bed.
I turn my blind eyes
towards her:
good to go out
and smell
and hear
London out
of this ward,
I say.
She tucks in
the blanket around
my bandaged leg stumps.
You look better now,
the sun has caught you,
she says,
anything
I can get you?
New legs and eyes?
I say.
Eyes not possible,
but legs maybe
once your stumps
have healed
there is a good chance,
she replies.
I sense her
near me.
Sorry if I am
in a mood,
I say,
I think that man Philip
is trying to propose
or something like it
and I'm not ready
for that now.
She touches
my hand:
give it time
there are more
difficult times ahead
to worry about
than that,
she says.
She goes:
I hear her shoes
on the floor
going away from me.
I sense tears
in my eyes;
I stare into darkness.
Why would he
want me?
What future would he
have with me now?
Not pity
I couldn't have
someone marry
out of pity,
I mutter to myself.
I reach down
and touch my leg stumps
with my fingers
to make sure
they are still there
and I haven't
grown legs
or maybe it is
a dream or nightmare.
They are there
and the reality
of the legs gone
thumps my breast,
my heart.
I grab the sides
of the wheelchair
and bang them
with my hands
and break down
and cry
and say
why?
why?
why?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
When someone leaves us such feeling is natural, you have put in nicely in your poem, Thanks for sharing.10++