walk a mile

i

ability snaps
its generous hands shut
in an instant — fractured
nadir of my neediness
unhinges my horizon

ii

accustomed shoes no longer
apply — a new collection
stands before me
miles to walk

iii

high-heeled high-fashion fit
for a king
sitting in place.
    grounded.
my palace formerly known as dining room
don’t lift a finger. can’t carry a thing.
escorted everywhere. waited upon.
no choice in the matter makes
royalty not what it’s chalked up to be

iv

thick-soled papa pumps — supportive sneakers —
white and bright
waiting at the light
soundscape erupting in urban dysphoria
walking man starts 
my steps  _ — _ —  too soon
turns to fiery flashing hand descending numbers rankle my anxiousness
“my pace is my pace” i mutter popeye-like
words lost in the fumes of revving
yonge street’s got no
patience for slowness

v

now no shoes
foot absent — languishing,
my leg lives disconnected
i dream of the blade runner
on all fours, trying to get to two
a crowd around me awkward
stares redden my embarrassment
looking for fig leaves to hide behind
humble helplessness at every turn
clothes changed by others’ arms
once two at a time, flight of six steps
may as well be everest
sherpas holding my arms
catching my stumbles
staggering stairs and heavy doors
accessibility has not yet arrived

vi

• walker • crutches • hospital bed • urinals • tray table • compression socks
accoutrements of upturned ability
i’m just trying on shoes
every step returning me to form
     these shoes others
          wear for all time
               until treads are gone 
laces in shambles 
fibres frothing
each step in each shoe
     carrying me to compassion

Written by Scott Moore
Illustrated by Landon Wideman

Inspired July 2020