Consider Me Forgotten

I remember the days when
we’d stroll the sidewalk
hand in hand along the beach;
lazy rays made our shadows
droop behind our heels
long and more reluctant to follow
than we were to leave the sand,
seashells ,
and what you called
“sea drool” on the shore.

You said that you
liked the three-legged silhouette
that tracked us close,
only because it made us one
when every stride of mine
were two of yours.

I remember when
you used to hail the wind
to drift us far,
far from human scars,
the city lights,
the stream of parked cars and
you were a dazzling shot of hypnosis.
I’d look you up under amazing,
beautiful,
breath-taking but
you were never there.

You helped me out of my wheelchair
and into the car;
the drive back was piercing silence
and muffled tear drops.
I could tell,
you missed our shadows
and the rusting metal wheels
would only take me so far,
so far.

I remember you coming to visit
everyday as if you weren’t a wife,
a mother of two
or a teacher of
twenty-seven and a half children.
You
remained at my bedside,
for hours it seemed,
silent.
I wish I could tell you
to “stay strong,”
that this “isn’t thee end,”
some other appeasing cliche
to white-knuckle grip,
that there is life
after survival,
but the fear translated in your eyes
knew no change,
no comfort.

With every passing minute
you became
a conjugation of sadness,
a hint less brighter than upon arrival and
you prayed for a miracle.
I never feared that it wouldn’t come,
only that if it didn’t
you would always remember;
the sea-salt crusted spokes
of my wheelchair,
the expiration of my inspiration
as a ghost of a memory,
remember,
when your strides reached mine,
remember,
when our three-legged silhouette
would baffle the ocean.

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