Do we have food at home?

I’m positive I told you the other day

Or the one after, or before,

Or maybe it was to someone else

Was I doing something? I was--

I was saying something!

Something about a cat? Or my homework

Do I have homework? I always have homework

I should do that, or maybe throw out that salmon

I threw out the salmon? How long has that been there?

A week? What did I even do last week?

Not what I was supposed to.

I’m behind on everything. Would be great if I could keep track of what.

Would someone care to remind me what I have to do before the panic hits?

Would be great, you know

If I could just

Start a project before the deadline

Or at least remember to feed myself.

You know when I lived alone this past summer

I kept forgetting to make tuna salad

And then I made it, but I didn’t finish it

I left half an onion in the fridge and then it got moldy

I meant to make something with it, I did

I just forgot it was there?

Have I told you this before? No, maybe it was someone else

I wish I was someone else

Someone with the capacity for task management

And maybe some fucking object permanence

How did we get here again?

Right, I came down for something

Something,

Something I told you the other day...

Oh! I was going to ask if you wanted to order food with me.

About the Author

Eugenia Shapiro (she/they) is the pen name of a certain Ukrainian Jewish masters student at the University of Michigan. Shapiro is an autistic writer and literary scholar with an interest in speculative fiction and Jewish inspired fantasy on both a personal and academic level. One can find her reading, drinking far too much coffee, and studying languages around central campus. She's delighted to share her disability related work in this anthology!

Contemplating Movement (2021)

Image Description: On the floor, a wheelchair is laid out disassembled with all its parts laid out in an organized grid.

326 individual parts, laid out for inspection and contemplation. For nearly five years, this device was methodically folded and unfolded, for the sake of my autonomy. The dependence I had on this machine became spiritual. To take it apart was like doing an autopsy on an old friend. By taking it apart, I sought to both lay the object to rest and understand something more about it. The logistics and complexity of the object, laid out for view with the tinge of sadness reserved for a first love.

About the Creator

Charlie Reynolds (he/him) is a conceptual artist who explores themes of war, gender, and disability using fibers, installations, and sculpture. During his time at the University of Michigan, Charlie hopes to expand his practice with a specific interest in weaving, hand dyeing, and quilting.

Image description: Charlie is a young white man with short brown hair. He is wearing glasses and white shirt with colorful stripes. He is looking at the camera with trees in the background.

Initiation

This poem is about my experience as a deaf Black boy, receiving hearing aids, and adjusting to the ways I had to exist within a white supremacist and hearing world.

II.

Some weeks or months later

I was sitting in a plastic chair

and told to be still while

the specialist inserted my first

pair of hearing aids. I wanted

them out but was told I needed

to wear them. I had to let it happen.

I.

I remember the squishiness

the mold gun injected

into my ears. Just 3 years old, not knowing

what was happening. Only the cold

bubblegum pink resin filling

my ear canal. I felt like

I was being buried alive.

IV.

like Simba

to the hyenas at

the Elephant Graveyard

I distract them.

But I know I stand

out. I imagine

my superhero and what could be

III.

I’m in Headstart. Waiting

in the line at a drinking fountain.

The other kids gawk

at my aids. I’m unsettled.

But I was wearing a hoodie

so I pulled it over my ears.

“I’m a lion!” And I roar

VI.

Mom said respectable Black

boys and men keep

their shoes clean,

their clothes ironed,

say, “ma’am” and “sir”

and, most importantly,

keep their hair short.

V.

Batman, Spider-Man,

The Power Rangers:

they all wear

masks to protect

themselves. Even

Samson had long hair

that covered his ears.

VII.

Now a grown man,

my respectable

hair reaches

past my shoulders.

Sometimes the tips

of my aids are caught

in my dreads.

About the Author

Marquise is a doctoral student in the Joint English and Education program. He wears hearing aids as a result of severe hearing loss. Being a Deaf Black man informs his research into how intersectional trauma and healing happens both within the body and community.

Image description: Marquise (he/him) is a young Black man with long shoulder length locs tied back. He is wearing glasses, a black shirt with an owl print and tan sweatpants. He is smiling at the camera.