I never wanted to wind up in a wheelchair
immobile
a lump of flesh to be washed clothed
and
ensconced in this chair
Every day
strapped in even
(so I can’t fall
but I’m not About to fall out!
Not agile enough
to Leap over the armrests or footrests
and Certainly not dumb enough to try!)
sitting here day after day in my sunny corner room
or the common room
where others in similar chairs slump drooling
or doze fitfully
no scintillating conversation
no reminiscences
no funny stories
just the Silence of Defeat of Giving Up
no one cares anyway
when was the last time
someone tried to actually Converse with me
(not just to ask if I’ve had a BM
or do I want to get back into bed
but a Real conversation)
So Glad I have my books
my pens & notebooks
at least I can talk to my Self
and hopefully some Far Day
maybe after I’ve left the building
someone will find & read my words
my silly thoughts
my Anger
my Despair
maybe someone in the distant future
will remember my name
because of my pain so well expressed
that it feels like their Own
or maybe it’s all just scribble and junk
to be thrown out when I’m gone
like used napkins not even glanced at
just Tossed
my words Burning in Another way
not burning hearts & minds merely Burning
to ash
pen indentations shriveled into tissue
thin bits waft away on the breeze
maybe the Spirit of those words
will be reintroduced to the Ether
and others will catch them
think they’re their own and put them to paper
I don’t mind
it’s the Words that matter not the medium
it’s hard to envision a Future
if every day’s the Same
the Same
the Same
I refuse to sink down into this chair
Refuse to abandon my hold on each day
they move me out of the warm sleepy sun spot
and like a table too much in the way
lurch me forward into the refectory
whether I want to go or no
I prefer to eat in my room
so I don’t have to see the others
who used to be People
gumming & dripping
hear them moaning
saying No!
turning head to avoid the spoonful of mush
but mouth prised open anyway
unwanted food shoved inside
and getting yelled at if they spit it back out
I can’t refuse food they won’t let me
they’ll put a tube in my stomach if I don’t obey
they don’t know I write it all down
they think we’re all wood here
unresisting lumps of fiber & bone
awaiting removal by the clean-up crew
my mind’s eye’s filled with basketball games
Barbeques and Church Sundays
scent of flowers and new mown grass
the laughter of friends and all manner of Life
outside this place where we sit like objects
Still
until moved around
rearranged like furniture for the convenience of others
Where has My Life gone?
Oh!
into these pages that possibly no one will ever read
© 2022 pamela twining
