for Deb D’Angelo
In a recent dream, I flew—
not so much for pleasure,
though it was that, also, rather
because it was clearly the next
thing to do.
On the trail, I did, perhaps, fly
for a moment,
my body spread into the air
above the rocky slope.
There was, maybe, a second
of curiousness—an inkling of thrill.
But then the horrible fact
of gravity. I did not want
to open my eyes for a long,
long time. I did not cry then,
not when I saw my hands,
blackened and bloodied.
Not when my shoulder
refused to rise. Though it hurt,
I knew it would all be fine.
I did not cry at the sting of soap
and water in the library sink.
I did not mind the stares
of the patrons confused
by the sight of my ripped up tights.
The librarian offered to tend to me,
finding me salve and applying
the bandages, fitting them
to angles they didn’t want to fit.
It was the look in her eyes that did it,
the gentleness, the warmth.
As she hugged me
like a daughter, like a friend,
like a human, I sobbed into her hair,
so moved by her kindness,
how she cared for me with such tender hands—
and for a moment, I swear I flew,
unafraid of how I would land.
I like how the flying comes from dream to fall to childhood memory. A flight of its own, really. And again, funny you should say this, because Pam just had a dream of flight while having her hip surgery last week. She asked the anesthesiologist for a dream, and she got it. No fall, but she certainly was bruised when she woke up!
Rosemerry, you truly have a gift with words. This teared me up. Love and hugs.
Deb, you have a gift with humans! You teared me up! thanks to you for all the sweet care you gave me.