she's making slow progress, doctor.
prettily tied paralysis
you gave for her half-birthday
from breath up
she's had to relearn walking
she still can't walk when you're there.
from her wheelchair view of the playing field
she squints her eyes to see you better
but she can't join the game
her arms don't obey her
and her legs must be strapped down at bedtime.
living in a cage drives up ones capacity for wonder
and she passes the time by looking at the grass
it's all she sees
from the floor
she still can't walk but she crawls.