Thoughts on a wheelchair

On this wheelchair, I sit
And look upon the grass
From my window pane
While knitting words
Into poetries.

I’m eighty-seven
Ancient and fragile
With ebbs over my skin
And folds on my body.
I wear roses
And a sunflower or two.

Only yesterday,
I was fifty-three
Combing my hair into a bun
With a novel in one hand
And a glass of wine in another.

And the day before yesterday,
I was forty-one
And was draping a blue saree
Around my body
For my daughter’s wedding.

And the day before that,
I was twenty-six
Getting engaged to my love
And going places
And taking pictures.

And the day prior to that,
I was fifteen
Writing poems in black diaries
Attaching lilies to my hair
And on vinyl records, I was dancing.

But tomorrow,
I will be ninety-four
Welcoming people to my funeral
And lay on my death bed
And will enter my body
Into this Earth
Without much ado.

-preksha