Hospital, ’58

Something is wrong with the moon so the boy in the hospital draws it under his blanket, the sliced moon that hums. He thinks how soon enough the moon will make him transparent. He knows it will happen. This is disability in childhood. And the doctors keep pulling on the boy’s arms, trying to rub out the light.

Author: skuusisto

Poet, Essayist, Blogger, Journalist, Memoirist, Disability Rights Advocate, Public Speaker, Professor, Syracuse University View all posts by skuusisto