While Walking Home
As my long white cane rolls from side to side in front of me,
I feel the sun, the gentle breezes that caress my face.
I should hurry, but what’s the rush?
The sun shines in a cloudless sky.
The air is warm, permeated with the scent of roses.
He’s been home alone for three hours.
Fifteen minutes more won’t matter, will it?
When I get home, I’ll take him outside in his wheelchair
so he can enjoy the late afternoon sun,
flop into my armchair in the living room with my feet up,
kick off my shoes, drink Dr. Pepper
while downloading e-mail onto my Victor Stream.
Its synthetic voice will read to me,
as I fold and put away laundry, prepare dinner.
We’ll eat together, content,
as another day draws to a close.
This poem was recently published in Behind Our Eyes: A Second Look, an anthology of stories, poems, and essays by disabled writers. It also appears in How to Build a Better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver