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Sandra Jean-Pierre | Digital Artist & Writer of Words.

Author: SandraJP

Disabled Chronicles, No.2d1

There was a taped interview I did locally when my art was presented at the gallery last year. I got dressed and showed up that day, sure that my hat and winter shawl were all in place. Camera pointed at me, mic catching my lilting voice, charm on fully – the interview went well. The videographer assured me he’d send a link once the clip was compiled. When the link arrived some days later, I eagerly watched it, waiting for

Disabled Chronicles, No. 977764784

Those three weeks you spent trying to find a place to get a pedicure and all you kept getting were tacit, ‘No. we can’t do that here’ responses. But you’ve come to expect as much and just keep trying. You tried today, hopeful you’ll find a place and look forward to feeling pretty and taken care of, only to be given two more No’s to add to the self-esteem devouring weeks you’ve been having. You just stop, mid-voyage and silently

Disabled Chronicles, No.2d

Disabled Chronicles, No.2D: I glanced at the image the fluoroscope captured on screen: my neck, right side extended and exposed; vertebra like puzzle pieces, spaced out. The faint outline of the base of my skull, my jaw… was that my chin? The earring of my left ear shown dark against the shadowy soft tissue forms of my neck and head. Love, there was this moment of Love for this this beautiful, misshapen body and all that it’s managed to see

Disabled Chronicles, No. 291

The Void The hem of her robe caught my eye from the periphery through the plate glass. The yellow floral pattern wrestled with the egregious wind, to keep covered the curves the mischievous gusts insisted on uncovering. I’d just got done asking the deli manager to help me get a cup of water, which I was ready to pay for, when she announced that water was free. Placing the chilled, covered and strawed cup on the counter facing the window,

Disabled Chronicles, No.236

Breach Healthy summer brush choked the path in front of me. I stopped a moment, unsure if the walk ahead would be possible. As if I hadn’t taken this stroll a hundred different times already. Silly. Of course it would be possible. I pressed ahead and quickly felt something out of place. The air felt closer, the space surrounding me narrower. I slowed again and tried to find the mystery. I looked to my right and noted how the water,

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