In July of 2009 while on a backpacking trip in the North Cascades, Matthew developed a relatively mild pain in his low back.  Little could he comprehend at the time, this incident would lead to the unraveling of his physical health to the point where, at its worst, he was left virtually unable to walk. Men Who Walk with Canes recounts Matthew’s journey of descent as nearly all aspects of his public life in the face of this mysterious condition   A gut wrenching and soul searching collection of poems, MWWC is full of hard won insights collected on a long, bruising path towards healing.

54 pages, perfect bound.

 

BACK HOME, WEEK FIVE

Three times now
I have seen the Trickster

The latest in broad daylight
ears propped
padding down my lane

Now I am sure it must be a sign

What he wants
I don’t know
or maybe I do

Five months
unable to walk right
and now this wheelchair
beside my bed

Childhood room where I lay
refugee camp of all my things

Dad snoring in the room above
Mom tossing

Sleep doesn’t seem to help
a thousand prayers neither

Dreams still come
but these days
I play catch and release

Doctors think I’m nuts
parents, too

And what good am I to friends
except a burden to their minds?

Everything gets stripped
and beneath a single question

Who am I?

Without my scribbling hands
without my chasing legs

Just a mind
rising in the night
full of words

 

MEN WHO WALK WITH CANES

for Richard Rodriquez

Pain in a dozen places

Every step I take
it declares, “Check.”

Between moves
I scrutinize again

How my life became stacks of doctors’ bills
became days waiting for the next medical appointment
became mornings watching kettles boil
became grocery lists handed to my parents to fulfill

Next week marks the one year anniversary
Of the onset of my affliction

Still the experts shake their heads

They say in hard times the soul grows large
Mine has grown a hundred meters wide

Large as a freighter
docked in the harbor
algae growing up its sides

Dance halls in myself
closed down long ago
dusty floors and spreading cobwebs

Like the body
spirit loses a certain tone
without the scamper up the face of alpine rocks

Without the shimmy through dim-lit rooms
full of women holding drinks

Attractive receptionists still smile for me
but I can spot the inequity
from this wheelchair where I sit

People hold doors for me
people are unbelievably kind

Now I think I’m beginning to understand
the minds of old men

Men who’ve suffered strokes
men who’ve lost fortunes
men who walk with canes

I tell them my story
and I see the roundness in their eyes
They don’t say much
they don’t need to

When my legs return to me
I will become the prophet
who says nothing

Doesn’t even try to pick you up
or cradle you
when you fall

Just kneels down beside you
and looks into your eyes
like those who have looked into mine

Without words

“Brother, welcome
We know the world”