Here

Hospital Litany

She’s small for her age moon-faced almost no breast development Notice the classic deformities of the p.i.p.’s in the ulnar deviation Are her bowels regular? Are they? Here you had a bowel movement, dear?

what

She’s small for her age scoliosed sparse pubic growth Notice the classic deformities of the m.i.p.’s the radial deviation Has she started menses? Has she? Have your started your period yet, dear?

what?

She’s small for her age knockneed Rise and Shine She’s small for her age pidgeon-toed Time for bedrest Exercise hotpacks Icebaths traction Small for her age Small for her age Small for her

what?

Shine Time SEDrate clean catch scoop you shit Dear Blood Just a little pin prick to the bone marrow to the ear drum

Stop Stop

Cut off the nodule realign the hip joint scrape cut saw Rebuild the deformity Rebuild the small for her age STOP STOP NO

Marshmallows

Sarah, who is three And too young to understand The personal and political ramifications Of Different Holds my hands in hers and coos Ummm... Like marshmallows

Gimp Hands

Mine are the hands of your bad dreams Booga Booga from behind the black curtain Claw hands The ivory girl’s hands after a decade of roughing it crinkled puckered sweaty and scarred A young woman’s dwarfed knobby hands that ache for moonlight that tremble that struggle Hands that make your eyes tear

My hands My hands My hands that grace your brow your thigh My hands in your hands

Incongruities of Rainwatching

I love watching rain grayness cooling colors greens no longer talk so loud, and the bricks on that old house on the corner- their hue-rich full-blooded from the rain. I love watching the rain looking through my window work spread out before me with my picture of Elvis (lean and nasty-eyed) to wonder at, and if I feel like it a blast of Springsteen-- wounded dreams and pretty girls.

I love watching rain curled up by a crackling fire kitten at my elbow, but not stuck under the magnolia in the yard of the Buddhist temple electric wheelchair taking on water like the hull of the Andrea Doria. I love watching rain, but not stuck under a damn magnolia because I’m still vain enough to hate how I look in raingear-- like a pup tent on wheels.

I love watching rain from the van at the headlands midnight colors at noon ocean foaming mossy against the cliff’s gnarls and crags Such pleasure I take in the spit and hiss the salty stench sweet earth as she cools and renews. I love watching rain sprawled before a roaring fire Courvoisier at my elbow, but not stuck in J.C. Penney’s doorway like an oddball abstract sculpture, like a pigeon perched in the doorway awaiting the next busload of tourists.

I love watching rain from any well-stocked oasis feet propped upon a pillow, but most especially I love watching rain on the rare occassion I remember machine and flesh lead separate lives And I tilt my face to the blackest cloud until my hair is seal slick and my clothes have to be peeled like the skin from a peach, Then, I love watching rain as it pounds against my thighs and sings off my elbows: WET

Sassy Girls

Friends Like Clubfoot Annie wearing’ bright red shoes Like Harriet the Harlip deliverin’ the news Like Spastic Jenny strokin’ the cat on her hat And One-Legged Ruthie, She teaches tap

Ya clap hands Ya shimmy, Ya shout Ya rock ya tired ideas right out Like Sassy Girls, unh unh

Like Old Blind Wilma readin’ a novel a day She just don’t do it no ordinary way Like Capucine the Deafie and Deaf Lily Rue Betch cain’t keep up with all the talkin’ they do Who ya callin’ crazy, Mary Louise? Hey, she’s the one knows how to talk to trees

Ya clap hands Ya shimmy, Ya shout Ya rock ya tired ideas right out Like Sassy Girls, unh unh

Like Mumtaz, the Mute One, pretchin’ the word Like Diana, the Cripple: She flies like a bird Like all us crips who sing a strugglin’ tune And at midnight Together HOWL at the moon

Ya clap hands Ya shimmy, Ya shout Ya rock ya tired ideas right out Ain’t nothin’ but worn out notions at stake Ya skip-a-rope, Ya hear the sound? Just a bunch o’stereotypes hittin’ the ground Ya clap hands Ya shimmy, Ya shout Ya rock ya tired ideas right out

Like Sassy Girls, Unh Huh, SASSY GIRLS

A Pair

Here we sit, separately cloaked-- I, in my deformity tuxedo; You, wearing confidence like a feathered hat. Today you bring clever word choices and fine wine; I bring spring colors and all my moods. We chink glasses, offer toasts: I, to the firmness of your thighs’ You, to my green eyes.

You plump pillows, remarking-- Kierkegaard was right about so many things: No doubt, I say, as I watch the flicker of the cat’s tail, sunlight streaking his amber coat. We nod and smile. I play shadow games, distracted by my twists and gnarls. But when the sky turns midnight blue you swear (and I believe) my curled paws are sequined slivers of the moon.

Tonight

Easier to watch TV tonight than be aware of our bodies together-- Two gimps working at love.

But then-- your hands your hands reassuring your hands your lips your thighs Slow down your eyes Oh yeah your Irish eyes your lips your thighs your thighs the welcome pitch and roll Shh Two gimps yeah working at love Shh a woman and a man in love working at love.

Here

There is a woman here middle-aged in her prime with long legs and a short fuse A woman who loves to write poems and dance I have rhythm in the marrow laughter, too I love to laugh and laugh

There is a woman here who has scars visible and otherwise more than you’d want to know more than I want to count A woman who believes in magic I long for magic I love stones before they’re polished I can picture Springsteen’s thighs

There is a woman here with a stiff back and incredible flexibility who tells lies for protection the truth for survival who sits in a chair on wheels and hausel sacks of self-doubt as if she were a stevedore A woman who survives to dream dreams

I braid hair in my dreams

I have electric hair and need to be loved soft soft lips and hate to be loved eyes shadowed by memory and want to be loved full round hips and I’m afraid to be loved I love so easily

There is a woman here full of colors A survivor who survives to be a woman here

I Am Not One of The

I am not one of the physically challenged--

I’m a sock in the eye with a gnarled fist I’m a French kiss with cleft tongue I’m orthopedic shoes sewn on a last of your fears

I am not one of the differently abled--

I’m an epitaph for a million imperfect babies left untreated I’m an ikon carved from bones in a mass grave at Tiergarten, Germany I’m withered legs hidden with a blanket

I’m not one of the able disabled--

I’m a black panther with green eyes and scars like a picket fence I’m pink lace panties teasing a stub of milk white thigh I’m the Evil Eye

I’m the first cell divided I’m the mud that talks I’m Eve I’m Kali I’m the Mountain That Never Moves I’ve been forever I’ll be here forever I’m the Gimp I’m the Cripple I’m the Crazy Lady

I’m the Woman With Juice