The legs began as two animals
not unlike the cheetah
with its hyperactive, childish goings-on.
But your legs never grew the haunches,
the muscles they needed to run.
With such atrophy, you sat in the wheelchair
and there you remained.

Cheetahs have piercing, deliberate eyes
and in yours I see survival.
I see giant cats stalking prey. It's still
in you, the pounce and play, fierce eating,
a leap through the tall grass of the savannah.

It's just a reflection rather than reality.
But reflections are a part of us as well,
the other mirror ball. I see both.
The legs began as two animals,
perhaps you and I crossed over each other
in restful sleep.

10/13/2006

Posted on 10/13/2006
Copyright © 2026 Lisa Marie Brodsky