Wheelchair bound
she misses bicycling,
on the boardwalk,
the salt air renewing,
her hope of a perfect love,
constant as the returning tide.
In Memory of Marsha Abrams, who bore the weight of MS with dignity and grace and brought warmth and love to her friends.
(Photo from Amaze Art Gallery)
Whitman at Last
The IV drips, drips
as I read,
Leaves of Grass,
reclining on a plastic chair,
under a frayed blanket,
soft as a baby's touch.
Here on a street
of rocks and stones,
illness lies, a detour
between life
and death,
where we become
like Whitman, all
of the same flesh,
one with earth, sea,
sky.
The poet, Shirley Adelman, is a mother of two, grandmother of three, a breast cancer survivor, a former college teacher, and a writer of poetry and prose. Her work has been published in academic, literary, and medical humanities journals in the United States, Canada, South Africa, and Israel. Most recently her work appeared in Jewish Currents, Blue Collar Review, and Kaleidoscope.