whirling_is_not_spinning raze her words are marbles. each small sphere a smear of feeling refracted and reframed. i see her spinning. suspended above a field of insurmountable light. it's the_first_time she's been out of her wheelchair on my watch. i remember a "grease"-themed gathering in our grade school gymnasium. i held her hands, braced by the lapboard and so much stronger than they should have been. she asked the wheels to do what her legs weren't willing to. she could hardly hold her head up. mine was crammed with clouds. we danced anyway. 260920 what's it to you? who go blather from