Kara Melissa Cerebral Palsy Took All the Words from My Son “If you listen you can hear me. My mouth is open, and I am singing.” -“Fathers and Sons” from Mortal Remains by Patrick Lane I imagine my son.…
Browsing: Prose
Shasta Kearns Moore What I know and what I don’t You’re looking at me like I don’t know. And you’re right, hospital staffer: I don’t. I don’t know what all your acronyms mean. I don’t know the difference between…
MER Mixed-Genre Literary Folio Guest Editor Sarah Dalton Being a mother or parent of a disabled child and/or a child with complex medical needs is one of the most rewarding experiences. It is also one of the most challenging.…
Kathryn Satterfield Rare You find the old man hunched over your baby in the semi-darkness of the neonatal intensive care unit. A chorus of beeps and blips serenade them, this man and boy. The hospital hums, quieter now that…
Selections from Girlfriend Girlfriend is a collection of poetic prose short-shorts about my relationships with girl and women friends from childhood through my present elder years. When I showed my esteemed yoga teacher Genny Kapuler what I had written about her,…
Harriet Bailiss The Line We have, somehow, stumbling half-blind through the sleeplessness and the viruses and the heart-torque of fierce love muddled with fearful uncertainty, got here. We have got through twelve months, almost, and so it is time…
Caryn Cardello Normal Kids We were in the sandbox, during the normal time before Covid, and I was texting my partner about the possibility that our son might be profoundly gifted, when the child in question leaned over the…
Lisa Fogarty Frozen Spigots My twelve-year-old wants to do everything in her bedroom these days, but we put our foot down and say, “no meals.” Crumbs, bugs, we’re your family and you love us, remember? We compromise on snacks.…
Megan Hanlon Dear Wooden Swing Set, Steadfast and reliable, you have been my friend during these long short years. Together we’ve passed many damp mornings and long-shadowed afternoons: you, the sturdy fixture that invited my children to crawl on…
Jennifer Gay Summers Mothers Come First My husband and I stood in a hospital corridor, dressed in pink surgical scrubs, waiting to see our baby born. After six long years of miscarriages, in-vitro procedures, an adoption agency, and private…