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Poet, performer and disability culture activist, 1948–2013
Bones of my child hands dried to the frail of a sparrow's wing
working to reveal the secret of his hands, that soothed and ruined. Innocent graceful bone to gnarled stub twisted working struggling to reveal the secret of the sureness of his hands as they loved and ruined. My sweet girl hands died giving birth to the truth of a father's gentle murderous hands.
Spoken in Wade’s stage show A Woman With Juice and in Finding Words (1995). A shorter version is in Celebrating the Body Electric (1994).
We’re not sure of this poem’s title. Wade left it untitled, so it is known here by its first line. We haven’t yet found a published version of this poem. If you know its title, or where it was published, please get in touch.