Like Furniture

 

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