The Turning of Wheels

The elevator doors opened

Revealing a young boy

Sandy hair, blue eyes,

Smooth rounded face

He couldn’t have been more

Than fourteen years old

Yet he was bound to a

Wheelchair.

His life is a continual turning

Of wheels

On cold concrete and slippery ice

Legs that wouldn’t move.

Yet something in his eyes showed

A heart that had to prove

That he was not weak

Like a wilting lily

Or tenuous twigs caught

In churning waters.

No, the power

With which he spun

Those ersatz legs

Like a spinning wheel

Forming a lovely yarn

An intricate story

Told silently

Showed

Determination

Greater than studying

To ace a bio test

Courage

Worth more than being

The first to put up your hand

When the teacher asks a

Difficult question

And beauty

Far surpassing that of a girl

Who swipes on layers upon layers

Of mascara only to hide

Her crystalline eyes –

Eyes which told a much different story.

No, this boy faces challenges

Every waking hour of his life

And he is unique

Something that always

Stands out

In hierarchal High School City.

People avert their gaze

Pretending to look at

Empty billboards

Walls drenched in pale white 

I have, I admit

But not today

Today I waved

As he exited the elevator

My hand saluting a soldier

Of perseverance.

But he didn’t see me

And I kept walking

As the doors closed

Behind a world most choose

To ignore.

Katy Thompson

Block: 3

Feb.23, 2012