The first time each of us need a wheel(ed) chair, we are too young to remember it. When I was nineteen, I got Achilles tendonitis for the first time. It lasted months, my doctor telling me, in frustration, just to stop walking and it would get better—whatever you do, don’t do stairs and don’t run; I was obviously a very […]
Category Archives: Rhubarb Out Loud
I am not ashamed, have learned not to be, of my body, being different in shape and function: large head and stomach, crooked fingers, thin arms and legs.
for Gary Schwartz (1958–1996) I have never seen you. You were my great uncle, or would be if such familial labels would apply to one long dead and unmet. You never came home. After you were born, they placed you in an asylum for crippled rag dolls. In this snake-pit penal colony, inmates lie ignored […]