next to my apartment (I lived in 1-C and they were in 1-B) there was a jew family. Their kid was in a wheelchair. I felt really bad for them, I felt really bad for him, actually. He had milky skin and greenish eyes, but he could only loll his head around. I mean, I knew he could do more than that. He could think and be alive and feel like the whole world was a painting of a place he would rather be... but, all he could do was rock his head around and flutter his hands kind of like flags.
he liked to sit on the sidewalk. in his chair. he would look at the little tree that grew out of the metal grate next to the street. it had tangled bark, seams that looked like a hundred suicide attempts. a weary gathering of leaves clung lazily to the bony branches. they were more grey than brown, more dusty than mossy. it was not a cozy tree.
i imagine that he talked to the little tree. his head rolled back and forth. his tongue a traitor. his muscles obeying only as much as they have to, djinns fulfilling disrespected wishes. he hates thinking about how he can't do what he wants. it's an old desire, turned curled and frustrated.
he's stronger than you are. he's lived and loved. without legs and arms, with pained looks from people, quick glances away when they think he is looking at him. he sees all of that. he knows, in every way, how his body is broken. you have no fucking idea where your edges are. he knows them intimately.
his mind is a green field with fat trees. wide branches with too many leaves, thick with bees and dragonflies. it smells like loam and fresh rain. A man holds a woman in the shade, hands stroke planes and curves. He loves her, and she him. She loves the idea of him, and he loves that she sees him when she closes her eyes. she smells savory, like heat and spice. he closes his eyes and presses his head to hers and inhales.
He runs his hand under his thighs and feels the welt that the seat presses into his legs. He can't feel it in his legs, but his left hand is pretty good. it feels like a seam. like some foreign dead weight has been sewn onto his body. He jerks his head to look up into the slate sky. He thinks it will rain, though he can't tell anyone that. Without his reader it would just sound like slurred nonsense. He likes rain.
So does the tree.
he liked to sit on the sidewalk. in his chair. he would look at the little tree that grew out of the metal grate next to the street. it had tangled bark, seams that looked like a hundred suicide attempts. a weary gathering of leaves clung lazily to the bony branches. they were more grey than brown, more dusty than mossy. it was not a cozy tree.
i imagine that he talked to the little tree. his head rolled back and forth. his tongue a traitor. his muscles obeying only as much as they have to, djinns fulfilling disrespected wishes. he hates thinking about how he can't do what he wants. it's an old desire, turned curled and frustrated.
he's stronger than you are. he's lived and loved. without legs and arms, with pained looks from people, quick glances away when they think he is looking at him. he sees all of that. he knows, in every way, how his body is broken. you have no fucking idea where your edges are. he knows them intimately.
his mind is a green field with fat trees. wide branches with too many leaves, thick with bees and dragonflies. it smells like loam and fresh rain. A man holds a woman in the shade, hands stroke planes and curves. He loves her, and she him. She loves the idea of him, and he loves that she sees him when she closes her eyes. she smells savory, like heat and spice. he closes his eyes and presses his head to hers and inhales.
He runs his hand under his thighs and feels the welt that the seat presses into his legs. He can't feel it in his legs, but his left hand is pretty good. it feels like a seam. like some foreign dead weight has been sewn onto his body. He jerks his head to look up into the slate sky. He thinks it will rain, though he can't tell anyone that. Without his reader it would just sound like slurred nonsense. He likes rain.
So does the tree.
posted by he who seeks knowledge at 12:05 AM
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