Braids

I wind my love
slowly
like a braid
over
under
over
under

A distraction from
the loose locks
that have no place
in my life.

There is a deep need
to organize these feelings
and bind them.

All the while
I am careful and try
not to tie them up
too tightly

just in case
one of us
should come undone.

October

I have turned endless revolutions
of yellows and reds
without you

But now
I cling to you
as we gather ourselves
like leaves

I fear the gust
that can scatter us

And
what if I cannot find you again
come October?

Haiku #2

As this autumn day

folds to chilly dusk, I am

but a fallen leaf.

Haiku #1

Elusive soul mate:
You have forever been my
Indian summer.

Balance

I strike

for once
a perfect balance

Equal parts anger

when people don’t

say what they mean
and then
when they say
exactly what they mean

Either way

I always need
to steady myself

Take back control

when someone says

they love me
and someone says
they don’t.

Spokes

This journey is circular:

It’s a tire

on my brother’s three-speed
inherited by me
at the brink
of boys on my brain
when I rode down and up
streets at dusk
Looking for trouble.

Hands-free
I needed only to lean
In the direction I desired
My spirit leading
my body to follow
hair wild
heart pounding
my freedom unquestioned
Searching for Someone.

This journey is circular:

I could not know
that you and I
were spokes in the same wheel
jumping curbs
cutting corners
looking for trouble
searching for someone

Spinning around
and around and
Never meeting.

Thirst

It is almost as if
this thundering lunchroom
thick with students
is absolutely silent.

I observe through
the dense din
Words
Flinging
Flying
Crashing
from one set of lips
to the ears of a boy
who catches the words
and swallows them
believing that they have
been tossed in friendship.

The lips turn
to face other boys
and laugh easily.
They drink in the
sustenance of their cruelty
while another boy
sits alone
unable to recognize
his own thirst.

If

If
I cannot hear today
tomorrow
or in days that follow
I will
thrust the music
to my senses
so as not to forget

I will live by rhythm
breathe in measures
love in meters

I will let rise up
melodies from my youth
and examine them
like evergreens
like marketplaces
like the faces of loved ones
like tornadoes

If I cannot hear
I intend to taste
all the notes I have
squirreled away
whole, round, ripe
flat and tart
even sharp, hard
I will devour them all
Still
If I cannot hear

If
I cannot hear today
tomorrow
or in days that follow

I will
Ask you to touch me
in ways
that implore me
to remember

Freak Flag

This post was created in response to the January 2011 Disability Blog Carnival.  The theme ("Let Your Freak Flag Fly") was created by my daughter, and the January Carnival was hosted on her own blog (candidlycrippled.blogspot.com). 


            Growing up, I never felt much like a freak myself.  I enjoyed a reasonable feeling of “fitting in” and was fairly comfortable in my own skin.  I did, however,  have an unusual penchant for reading about disability as a young child, a piece of myself that I never thought to question.  Even still, I recall an awful moment in my teenage years, when my level of discomfort confused and embarrassed me:  a party held at my high school for mentally challenged adults where I was expected to interact with the party-goers all but horrified me.  It was a freak show I couldn’t relate to; I was actually frightened by the numbers of people around me who were different.  Clearly, my book knowledge and my real world knowledge were deeply at odds with each other.  I remember coming home from school and expressing my feelings to my mother, who noted that I would probably not make my living working with this particular population.

          After my children were born, everything changed, yet at the same time, all things rewound back to my early years of reading.  I became who I was meant to be from the beginning.  Different became normal, and freak flags unfurled around me as symbols of power and creativity and strength.  My children had been born with obstacles to skirt around, and together we fought the dirty looks, the pitying smiles, the ignorance and the patronizing words.  I began working with other children who needed advocates in their lives, someone who could relate to their own unique freak shows.  There is nothing in this world that I would rather do than spend the day with people who do not judge me, freak or no freak.

          Today, almost all of the people I know fly a freak flag.  And, as I get to know them, one by one, I find that I relate to their quirks and behaviors.  I feel the same fears and frustrations that color their days, and I appreciate them all for their humanity.  I’m starting to think that maybe I do have a flag to fly, complete with my own individuality, woven with the fabric of the flags of all the freaks I’ve had the pleasure of knowing.   Perhaps, I am a freak after all.