There were no disclosures
whispered by the future
to prepare for the shocking view
of your upper body
in the rear view mirror.
The everydayness of it now
gently needling my belief
that we must accept without surprise
the peculiarities of what is delivered to us.
I can now admit it is the norm,
there are no fissures in my acceptance
that what I see framed there is with gratitude
you are there.
Your lower body folded in your wheelchair
as I drive away I see the whole of you
still whole to me.
Pen Reid, Poet of the Month February 2016