Saturday, April 17, 2010


(assignment 17: a science poem)

I am angry at scientists.
Angry that the dared have gall
to manipulate my small girl muscles
into shapes they never meant to hold.
Stole my weight baring knees
without backwards thought;

robbed girl child of only independent mobility
she processed for 24 months
until the Shriners- urged by school based assistant-
returned a degree of what was lost
in the form of power wheelchair.

Even today,
falling on what used to be my kneecap
and is now scarred over nerve endings-
just waiting for agonizing, accidental exposure
to anything resembling pressure-
means a few hours, days, or weeks in bed
with ice/heat, narcotics, and evermore both
annoyed and annoying assistants for company.

Because someone, somewhere
who had only known me for hours (if that)
decided the way my childhood body moved
was inadequate for adulthood.

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