Michael Roque
Weariness,
adventuring in daydreams—
rotting in a reality
out of reach
behind wide open windows
on a ground floor.
Ears hear the click clack of possibility—
eyes scan the same ceiling,
mind strains willing mobility.
Mouth screams, “Legs—
Move! walk!! Stand bold!!!”
Voice begs “Hands—
Grasp! Ball up!! Take hold!!!”
Experts say one day,
but a few hopeful mornings
mold into months
as bodily flesh fuses
to bedding—
a fabric human lump.
By an inch—
a pinky lifts
a promise to the whole body.