witness to the miracle

i once pushed a professed quadraplegic up the holy mountain
(okay, so she wasn't quadraplegic, but she was wheelchair bound,
and it wasn't exactly a holy mountain, just the nearest to ojiba).
we passed a shinto waterfall and a buddhist temple
all in the middle of nowhere (wondering how people lived
without cars and access to the kfc or
the bread bakery in the hondori)

we passed a huge boulder with iron rings stapled into its side
and i wondered why i hadn't come here with someone interested
and interesting
climbed the rings and made love
on the hard warm surface
between the gaps in the trees
and the wind of the valley
our sounds falling like god's graces upon
the 2:00 moment of silence
in the holy city below.

instead, i pushed the quadraplegic (who wasn't, really) up the mountain
my hands gripping the handles of her wheelchair

and when i let her listen to my walkman
she seemed taken aback
soul asylum lyrics said something about
not caring about wheelchairs
and so much left to do with my life

i reassured her that it was a figure of speech
and turned away,
wondering why i was there,
what i was doing,
where was that pleasant spot in the sun
and the one i could ignore it with
oblivious
of being blessed,
one of the young and innocently depraved

where was the so much left to do with my life
there behind the wheelchair
was the so much distance
to get somewhere i never wanted to be
with someone i wanted to help
but not really.
no, not really.

when we finally reached the summit,
and her last footsteps were taken,
shakily,
on her own,
it was to be later proclaimed a miracle
and i the supposed catalyst

and the photograph taken
at the sign on the summit
me leaning on it
showed my smile
showed my teeth
but even in it,
the witness to the miracle
was looking somewhere to the left
into the distance.