#DisabledPoetry

Spring by Jenny Rowbory

Winter is all around but in this glade there is no ice or snow; warm sunlight bathes us. My hands are filled with soft white petals that I shower over you like confetti; they brush your cheeks as they fall, melting into your skin, coming to settle gently upon the grief, loss and panic. It makes the heavy feel light for a little while. Here it is safe to sing of the hope of Outdoor Hair. What if the seasons are stuck for good this time and Spring never comes. We were never promised it would. Our bodies are covered in the welts and bruises from the kicks and punches of that unmade promise, the one we wish existed: the guarantee of a certain Spring. We are The Winter People yet our hearts are made of snowdrops.

— We Are The Winter People by Jenny Rowbory (Page 5)

Bed days by Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha

What were my mom's pain days like? Were they all of them? She didn't have weed, friends, a therapist, yoga, baths, Vicodin, T-3s, community acupuncture, fragrance-free or turmeric. She had wine, silence and a garden. She had hidden.

Sometimes I lie in bed on a pain day with my sick and disabled friends a finger swipe away, my twin canes, my partner who loves me my good bed, my nettles and my deep breaths, and still the pain in my knees and legs lives and shouts fire, and I wonder

if my disability is me feeling all the pain my mom never had a chance to feel finally safe enough to come home and talk to me.

— Tonguebreaker by Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha (Page 41)