This is Not a Poem About Disability?
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The castle’s bricks are almost the color of his fur.
The floors indented bu his feet.
She loves books
The library doors stand open
He brings her books, as best as his claws can carry.
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Thw witch knew what she was doing, he thinks.
All the doors have round knobs that claws can’t catch
and the spoons are small and delicate traceries
Someimes he wonders how his claws would feel against bark.
when he remembers what bark is.
A breeze wafts in through a window and he thinks he can hear the other beasts in the forest.
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Someone keeps shutting the doors
Someone keeps closing the windows
He gazes at the potted plant on the windowsill
And holds on.
Somewhere there is a rose in glass...
And every day...
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She says “I love you, and it’s a wonder that I do because
no one else can anything but hate you,
That’s just how you are
I love you, but I don’t like you
especially when you don’t talk
and have so much fur and claws.”
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Sometimes he thinks of cool brick doors with bar handles
Sometimes he thinks of glass and breaking.
