2006 - Vol. 3, Issue 4

Tall, he used to stride through
his 90–year life scrawled
in longhand and shorthand.

In this warm October,
a day rolled through the day,
hinging the rusty remnants of his life
to his hospital room, walls, bed.

People see cancer in colors. At least we did. Marla said that the cancer was sky–blue, and I never asked her why. I assumed it was because of my dad's veins. They started snaking around his arms, viciously, hungrier looking veins than I had ever seen — as if they had just suddenly appeared for the pain medicine.

We discovered it in summer — and it happened because of summer, I guess. But it was also discovered then, the melanoma, which is unfair because you shouldn't feel ashamed of taking your clothes off and feeling the grass on your ass. You shouldn't feel guilty about trying to get as warm as you can.

The last I remembered, the Yankees were two runs down, but those bastards are always coming back in the ninth, so you never know. The ringing of the doorbell jounced me from the reverie of my recliner. "What the hell . . ." I muttered, trying to get a fix on my surroundings. The television was nothing but fuzz and static, so the ballgame must be over.

After another ring, I managed to get up and make my way to the front hall. I flipped on the lights and opened the door.

When I first heard of Sparrows on Wheels, I was quite intrigued. I felt the novel had the potential to be groundbreaking. The story follows Tallia Taves, an aspiring writer who has severe cerebral palsy (CP), and her four disabled classmates through their life at Inglewood School Hospital, a segregated school for children with disabilities. This book is the only one I know of that deals with the complicated issues faced by kids in segregated schools. As a former student of such a school, I was excited to see how much of my own experience might be reflected in the text. A book that successfully tackled the unique issues faced by students with disabilities in a segregated environment would be a teaching tool I could share with many of my family members and friends. I waited impatiently for its arrival from Alberta, Canada, where author Heidi Ganz is based.

The design of the book itself is quite well done. The print is large and clean, and as a visually impaired reader I welcomed the double lines between paragraphs. At first glance, this book was promising.

Poet and fiction writer Linda Cronin lives in Cedar Grove, New Jersey, a small, suburban town about 30 minutes from New York. She first became involved with Breath & Shadow when one of her poems was published in an issue. "After I discovered the wonderful work Breath & Shadow did," she says, "I knew I wanted to be a part of it."

Linda has rheumatoid arthritis, which has limited the strength and function of her joints and bones and led to several additional conditions. She uses a power wheelchair for mobility.

They say an amputee
still feels the arm.
It's so: my bare finger
wears your ring,
my lips, the soft press
of yours.
My pulse keeps time
although my heart is gone.