Once upon a time I wove love
with a black thread
and gold
and took them both together inside,
weaving
pulling
til they were tight
accepting the product,
loving the cloth,
with the shadow emphasizing the light,
the shine as important
as the dark.

And a wound as vast as the ocean
as angry as a storm
began finally to close
a chasm defeated,
a giant toppled,
by a bit of imagination in a dark room.

Those kids ignoring me,
my fury,
my loneliness,
my forgotten tears,
my fear.
I comfort me, and cry. Then a
-click-
I realize

Instead of wondering,
"What's wrong with me?"
Just a simple shift.
A step I could never take
(impossible, I had no legs)
air I could never breathe
(my lungs lost)
but now
I sing, I climb, I dance,
"What's wrong with them?"