I have a friend who's cripple, and I wrote this one.
It's called, "The Cripple."
I pull my legs from the floor as I would two weeds--
Gently.
Pretending my roots have remained
in the soil that once held me upright
in the palm of its hand.
In the roads of black thread, I walked, sowing years.
Instead, the itch deep in my heel
cries from its mouth, one thorn after another.
And sowing is S-O-W-I-N-G. I should have mentioned that
before.