November Legs

I have not felt my legs in four years.
I hate months. Each carries different
demons. November is a home-wrecker.
Prancing in lives
like a horse,
with a horse,
trampling my legs,
shattering a fragile life.

He went with the moon.
A silver carriage
whisking him into the night.
I laid on the floor in
a broken heap. Expecting.

A cloud came in and took his place.
Pouring sharp gulp after gulp.

Until, questions came.
Until the bugs crawled through
my nostrils,
dragging hallucinations behind them
on chains.

I loved them. For a moment,
I loved them. But their names changed.
On a basis.
We went infrared together.
Having seizures and one night stands.
Dancing black dances.
Taxi after taxi. Until,

the cloud cleared. Left me like he did.
November was not anymore,
and still I cannot feel my legs.

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10 thoughts on “November Legs

  1. wow gal, from someone who was actually paralyzed for a time and recovered, this poem hits the physical side like a capital M-monster…there is so much here that i feel and see but do not “understand” the full story of–which fascinates me–and inspires me to write about the physicality of paralysis…”ouch, and oh, and oh my” is what i say…you combine words with a choked glorious genius. excellent.

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