These poems are published as part of the Amplifying Disabled Voices special section, selected by editors Christopher Heuer, Marlena Chertock, and Gregory Luce.
 

Even the Trees Tell Me That My Body is Not an Apology *

As the buds of the tulip tree emerge from the depths to color a life,

the pignut hickory’s leaf scars are shaped like a heart — the divots a discontinuation of the smooth bark to give a gift back to the soil

the rings around each twig, each branchlet
knobby and lumpy and to some an interruption

but let us celebrate these as continuations
the scars and marks and bumps and goop
and juice and blood and salt and pulp and pith

proof of our beautiful continuation
our hike through the forest of deaths that make a life
the beating thumping dancing heart that
shapes our woven leaf scars and wooden branchlet rings

so that our tulip trees may never stop blooming.

*Title inspired by Sonya Renee Taylor’s poem, The Body Is Not an Apology
 

Florida

the last time you undressed me,
I was golden
naive skin
hungry blue eyes
the world was my friend, and you, my lover

did I feel smooth? no velcro or adhesive or plastic.
a manatee that hadn’t yet been mangled by a fishing boat
an oyster who still held her pearl
didn’t know she would lose her pearl
didn’t hold on hard enough to guard her pearl

wrapped/rapt
in my own arms i feel my body come apart
i slurp my very own organ soup
filled with herbs and pills and all the different goops:
mri goop,
ultrasound goop,
physical therapy goop,
gloved goop,
eye goop

what would your fingers find inside of me now?
a pessary,
an organ –
or two

have i lost my luster i would ask?
have i turned green as jade?
dull with throbbing heaviness?
do you also hear the cigna hold song or is that just in my head?

can you embrace me and put me back together without tapes or splints or drugs and
promise promise promise that

you will pull yourself out of me and
marvel at what you see: your
fingers slick with my very own golden nectar goop

Barbara Maria DeSilva (she/her) grew up along the Pacific Coast and now resides beside the Potomac River. Find her conversing with the moon, talking to trees, and playing by the water. Barbara is a part of the EDS community and explores the intersections between ecology, queerness, and disability through her writing and herbalism practices.

Featured image in this post is, “Inside the Forest – painting by László Mednyánszky” By László Mednyánszky, licensed creative commons via Wikimedia Commons.