perspective

Perspective

I remember the man who sat for months
trapped in an electric wheelchair
still looking straight ahead out the window
at the ceaseless weeping willows, naked and
unleafed, by the distant cold creek bed.

Straight out and past the big screen TV
mounted hinged in the corner
with the fishing channel stirring memories
of past glories dead limbs would never
again experience

He was still and steadfast as the large
window itself,
His brow was knit like the creased Afghan
that crossed his still legs
He never lamented once and did not carry
an ounce of emotional weight about the
future or his condition.

Seeing him in the sling that moved him
like a helpless baby from bed to wheelchair
and back,
as he laboriously fed, or barely twitched
a thumb as finally his ashes were placed
in a tiny hole, that was my solemn education.