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?
Aug 13, 2016
Aug 13, 2016 at 2:45 AM UTC
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?
A BLIND LEGLESS WOMAN IN 1940 AND A NURSE AND HER DEPRESSION
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