Quadreplegic Love
The Wounded Angel
- by Hugo Simberg
When I was 15 years old I spent the night in a field
at a party
with a young beautiful quadreplegic woman
She had been injured in a car accident
It was a night of young wonder
full moon
summer
the air was warm
and slid lusciously
along our bodies
Her face was beautiful
But
the moon wept in her body
Her body was a land of weeping
We both dreamed of beautiful bodies
Her sweet swelling bosom
under the the touch of my hand
was only an idea to her
She was quadreplegic
alive to touch
only above her breasts
For her
they could of been another's
She felt with her mouth
sweetly touching my face
as I leaned in over her wheelchair
her gentle tongue pressing
her savoring mouth
kissing and kissing
Hours passed and we laughed
and talked and wondered
through the night
She tasted everything
with eyes closed
so that better
her heart might bloom with images
We were up all night
I remember the light of dawn coming slowly
and with it came
a return to memory
and comparison with others
and
the flower of her delight
closed with the sun
She would not give me a number where to reach her
perhaps
she was too wise from her pain
or perhaps
just too vulnerable
Her friends came and wheeled her to their car
It had heavy doors that shut firmly
I watched her eyes looking out the window
I saw sadness looking out her eyes
I felt her beautiful sad body looking out her eyes
Don't forget sweet one
I felt
Love is your whole body
Don't forget
Love is the whole body
I remember her love
looking
through the heavy doors
looking out the window
and
I was scared
because I realized
her practice is no more or less
than the one I or anyone else must perform
We must yield everything up to what is
Because love is the yielding
of the whole body
to God