He is only a man.

A new cuirass encircles the chest and  wound which is still beating.

Trembling fingers lift the gilded helmet and

Slide it over his head.

He looks up to the weeping willow tree,

Seeing the long, strands of leaves flowing downward

Like hair.

Two thicker branches reach toward the sky

With small twig fingers,

Grasping air.

He stares for a moment

Then clenches his eyes shut

As tight as his fists.

His fingers are covered by the gauntlets.

Skin doesn't feel skin anymore.

He begins walking again,

but feet move slowly in the metal soulieres.

Each step is smaller,

Harder

Until he falls

In the perfect, polished armor

And fails to rise.

 

(c) 2008 Maria Rachel Hooley.  All Rights Reserved.