Strangely Familiar

Can you walk from the refrigerator to the couch? Can you run (or at least attempt to run) to catch your kids? Can you climb up the stairs to your work or in your home without any difficulty? If so, then you’re likely not one of the 56.7 million functionally disabled persons in the US (also includes hearing/vision loss, dementia, mental health…etc.) I’ve not really questioned my knowledge of disabilities. I trained in a school psychology program focused on social justice and actively take a stance on understanding forms of power, privilege, and oppression wherever they lay, including disabilities. I practice as a school psychologist, helping to identify students with special needs in our schools. Frankly, I thought I "got" it. Just four days ago, I broke my toe (my right, big-toe, to be specific). Fractured. Painful. Swollen. I iced it and elevated it all day when it first happened, but when the swelling didn’t go down the next day, I went to an urgent care clinic

Death and its Spectre (Poonam Desai, 2016) The painted bunting is magnificent. I had never heard of this bird until Sagar sent me a picture of its lifeless form, found outside of our home. I knew immediately I had to attempt to capture it. As gorgeous as it is, I am constantly reminded that the body is a shell to contain our soaring life. I, like the elegant bunting, must go at some time. And so what becomes of the significance of our daily insignificances? How do I balance the gravity of the moment with the utter absurdity of it? ~Body, Mind, and Shadow~ My skin is bruised, muscles sore Plump purple considerations On an otherwise caramel slate But nothing makes me feel more alive Than being a little bit broken I don’t want pretty blue right angles When I can be obtuse and acute And dark enough to blend into the shadows Light enough to be seen I’ll be a ghost Observing the fray from another dimension I’m here Behind my skin Using my eyes to gaze