2004 - Vol. 1, Issue 8

Drought parched the Northeast. As summer went on, first the crops, then the grass, and finally even the trees withered under the scorching heat. Watering made no difference, even before the streams and rivers dwindled to trickles. Blight followed, killing what crops the drought left. The tomatoes were first, followed by the potatoes, the cabbage, and the beets, and worst of all, the corn. By the end of August, not a single cash or food crop survived anywhere –– except in one small valley in Upstate New York.

Looking over the crop–disaster relief forms, Mark Davis noticed it first, because he was already marking the requests on a map, hoping to find some pattern. He found one. The tiny green area seemed to start in the Butternut Valley and radiate outward, diminishing slowly and disappearing completely only a few miles beyond the valley's lip.

Last semester, I took a course called "Rhetoric –– The Pursuit of Eloquence." As an assignment, we had to present a "speech" of encomium (in praise of something/someone) or invective (criticism of something/someone). I chose invective, because I thought it would allow me to diffuse my anger and frustration about the lack of accessibility my husband and I experience. I also wanted these nondisabled folks who think the existing accommodations are sufficient to have the experience of being mobility–impaired so they would understand what it's really like for thousands of individuals from day to day. The audience was a group of nondisabled classmates. In "Imagine," I, a person with a disability, am the narrator.

New York is tough on its newcomers
from Lvov or Laos, or émigrés
from Ontario or Ohio.

My own Manhattan began circa 1980
with a ride on D Train from Brooklyn
to Lower East Side's Broadway