Under the Sun
This poem belongs to all the children who will never know the joy
of running on a beach and getting sand between their toes. Told
from the perspective of a 12-year-old boy, wheelchair-bound.
I know a place where the stars kiss the sea;
and fish sing all night in cool harmony.
Where golden crystals, sparkling in the sand
are polished each night by a wizard's hand.
Added to that are bright amethyst gems
from the cache of sunset wandering in.
A magical place where one can pretend
those broken, like me, are able to mend.
I found I could run at last--on fire!
So fast a comet might even admire.
I tumbled and cartwheeled all over sand;
then shook a magician's vanishing hand.
I whirled with delight, so eager to go
to all those places intriguing me so
defying gravity, I jumped so high,
I touched the edge of the deep purple sky.
Catching a ride from a planet to star
I could glimpse them all, both near and far.
No stopping me now, I joyfully thought.
A passing moonbeam next I caught,
that took me farther, a more distant place,
where stars shake hands and then embrace
I spoke with Zeus as his wife, Hera, smiled;
even spoke with Ares, their wayward child.
They said I must heed Earth's beckoning call;
because i'm not one of them, after all.
Suddenly captured by a downward draft,
starting to tumble, I could hear Zeus laugh.
As I tumbled down, the breeze gently placed
me in my wheelchair--my usual space.
But now that I know special secrets of
a magical land so far above.
I'll travel where my arms can at last lift
a flower I find on a sandy drift.
Where I can jump and dance and run--
and all things are possible under the sun.
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