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Precious
I remember well. The tip of my foot got heavier. I began to force my left leg up and forward to be able to walk. After a day or two, the skin there turned coarse. Part of my foot seemed to be made of stone - it was cold, heavy, motionless. Then my whole leg. It was almost interesting to see paralysis and transmutation, had the very I in me not been in the process of disassembly, as everybody knows stones only know how to stay still. In this new condition of mine, I would tell no more stories. I would not smile or say good-bye to my friends after having met with them. I wouldn't meet them.
the whole of me, stone.
All shells turn to stone eventually!
You just get the view from what it is like to happen while the body that houses the real you is still alive but with you being a poet, think of it in a twisted sense too as somewhat a gift as with your poetic abilities you can share with others what this experience of slowly enduring paralysis feels like, perhaps even help remove the veil of fear of that particular unknown. Who better than a thoughtful, deep thinking poet to reveal with such aplomb the stages of such unique muscle attrition. Precious I feel also was an ideal title for this piece. I've enjoyed meeting your poet children. I hope you introduce us all here in our big little community to more of them. Sincerely, a fan Melissa Lundeen................
Melissa!
I've been away for a while. was very pleased to read your comment. I'll be back again soon. thanks a lot for your words!