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This Work
in the reaching muscles, taut strand over strand to breaking, burning... faith - dust speck wide, without kin or end of tunnel light - sparked anyway, and The Work of un-breaking The Child, of wiping The Grown from Young Mind of blowing heart-wrenched...
heart/ break
... burgeoning truth. everadvancing towardshore, pushingagainsthopes’gossamer whisperof existence - so unexpectedly total,so undeniably complete, so shatteringly absolute, engulfs beyond submissionto surrender. breath,once friend leaves,foe. There is a way a...
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...
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...
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...
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...
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...
Disabled Chronicles, No.68643
My body has been moved and manipulated by many pairs and sets of gloved hands over the last few months. New hands, unsure hands, cold ones, warm ones. Hands with chipped Tiffany blue polish blurred through the vinyl of the gloves, some with watches, most with no...
Disabled Chronicles, No.2c
UPDATE: Spinraza Injection No.3: I wonder if this is what it was like to be made in the image of G-d that first time: glorious, innovative, sacred. Because what was not mentioned in all the awe-inspiring verklemptness of it all, is that it’s a bit painful and quite...
Lazara
© 2019 Sandra Jean-Pierre This body in silent dissension over being roused from its long assumed Final march whines aches cries from joy and pain uncertainty realizing there may be life yet left for the living... we Both hold on, scared and leaning in for the ride...
Disabled Chronicles, No.2b1
Looked down at my naked thigh this morning while I tried to extend my right leg. The muscle on top rose in a massive sheet. It reminded me of the definition bodybuilders get. I was shocked? Before Spinraza, my muscles didn’t do that. Not even a little bit. The...
Disabled Chronicles, No.2b:
UPDATE: Spinraza Injection No.2: Trying to save my life looks like mountains of lab work and urine samples to make sure my kidneys are okay. It looks like two cancellations and a ‘maybe today will be the day...? (I doubt it)’ attitude because you’re tired of the...
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