empty visitor’s room

wheelchair

empty visitor’s room
no fretting wives or children
dust dancing
free in the fractured light.

the sway and swing on rising heat.
arrive and depart. I stay.

the striations of sun and shade
running on from narrow to wide.
a sentence served in chains
locked in this broken body,
this screaming brain

wavering then
a jink north to south
in the gentle air
the updraft of heat.
in silent retreat, escape.

the staccato tap
of swinging stays
tip tapping on the sill,
the buzz of bees. Free

my own voice heard
far past the bars and shades
no prison seen through half open blinds.
I escape this place of trammelled days.

© Dave Kavanagh

Remembering a dear friend who became wheelchair bound after being paralysed from the neck down. The torment of that imprisonment drove him crazy.

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