In a hospital hallway once, buffeted by
vicarious wretchedness of the sick,
I watched a Broken Beauty:
Regal, grey-eyed, angular, angelic,
hair golden-red as a desert sunrise;
I watched her try
to take one step.

Buttressed by a matronly whitehair
murmuring the Can-do Catechism,
she forced one shaky foot forward, down:
Pretty pink painted toes, gripless,
slapped the indifferent green linoleum.
She staggered, fighting collapse,
near felled by her own weight's treachery.

One simple single step,
like ten billion daily taken
by complacent motile fools such as I.
Only one step; but
for the brave Broken Beauty,
a proud victory over "impossible",
forged in agony, tempered by suffering;
gleaming trophy reason to live again tomorrow.

Guiltless but guilty I slunk away,
cowed by her valor,
my non-need for crutches
a source of healthy shame.

LW