You never actually touch anything,
Rooted to her wheelchair
she hates classrooms
of children
who gathered aluminum tabs
drawn into strings
hung by their windows
melted by their love
industrial revolution love—
Fashioned
misery thrones
hung within
the warehouses
of her dried up heartstrings
A crisp shell of fury
eyes blazing
volcanic fear—
you glimpse her as you look
downdowndown
into the folds of
dead eye sockets
spark
the hundreds
of thousands
of seconds
she has hated you
as you pushed her
around Bellwoods park.
She remembers
it differently – without you in it
remembers walking
gravel under heel walking —
not this rubber gum existence
of wrinkles and bedpans
she misses bills, peeling paint
faces of houses tanned on one side only.
From between the hiccups of her cheeks
reborn rivers roar to life,
mudslides
whispering over buffalo bone
and glistening sunglasses.
The force of your atoms repels everything
what you feel is resistance —
Literally, we hover.