I don’t even know Christopher Reeve and yet think of him often.

Thinking of Reeve

Three or four days a week
I have jam and toast for breakfast
and each and every time, buttering,
I think of Christopher Reeve
How strange are these associations that spring
from an ordinary chore

Christopher Reeve was paralyzed, now dead,
the victim of a fall from a horse
and I have spent much of my life
on horses
But that’s not the key to this flashed image,
our connection’s simpler than that

He played a secondary role in a movie
titled The Remains Of The Day
that was made from a book I loved
And in this movie his butler makes him toast,
precisely spread with jam,
as butlers do or at least as butlers did

I’m stuck with this remembrance
can’t or wouldn’t shake it, just smile
and wonder if was a help to him,
this constancy of Christopher in my mind
Perhaps . . . there’s energy that flows from thought
and mine came to him at time for toast

Poetry Collection: Broken Pieces
This poem is included in
Jim Freeman’s
poetry collection
available here in print
or as an e-Book
in your favorite formats.