Rolling past
A pane of glass
The reflection I see
Is you not me
Legs immobile
Body straight
My wheelchair
Frames my self
But right behind me
Is your face
A spectre hovering
Over my space
I stare
You blink
I turn around
Until we face
On common ground
“Hello” you say
And “How are you”
But more is there
Words long past due
Unspoken
Looks still cast their spell
The reflection I see
Of words unsaid.
Copyright 2007 Ruth Harrigan
