As the spring stream rises beyond its braids
and ice melt overflows its slowly snaking banks
and the current gouges gravity’s deep
sprint line of stone resistance and tightens
channels through the sand and gravel layers,
undercuts fir roots, pushes trunks aside,
rives the bouldered clay restraints and slices
straight through the unsuspecting village green—
my daughter, tied-in by wide, trained hands
of hovering experts, spins the canted spokes
of her new titanium alloy wheelchair.
She thrusts down the hall’s careful ramps, shortcuts
stands of tall, shocked legs stumbling after her,
whirls, speed-sweeps thresholds, and surges on.
Photo of icy stream by Mike Laptev, courtesy Shutterstock.