Where does the future live in your body? Touch it 1 Sri Lankan radical women never come alone. We have a tradition of coming in groups of three or four. The Thiranagama sisters may be the most beloved and famous, but in the 20s my appamma and great aunties were the Wild Alvis Girls. Then there is your sister, your cousin, your great-aunts everyone infamous and unknown. We come in packs we argue we sneak each other out of the house we have passionate agreements and disagreements we love each other very much but can't stand to be in the same room or continent for years. We do things like, oh, start the first rape crisis center in Jaffna in a war zone in someone's living room. When war forces our hands, we all move to Australia or London or Thunder Bay together or, if the border do not love us, we are what keeps Skype in business When one or more of us is murdered by the State or a husband we survive whether we want to or not. I am an only child I may not have been born into siblinghood but I went out and found mine. Made mine. We come in packs even when we are alone Sometimes the only ancestral sisterlove waiting for you is people in books, dreams aunties you made up people who are waiting for you in the clouds ten years in the future and when you get there you make your pack and you send that love back 2. When the newly disabled come they come bearing terror and desperate. Everyone else has left them to drown on the titanic. They don't know there is anybody but the abled. They come asking for knowledge that is common to me as breath, and exotic to them as, well, being disabled and unashamed. They ask about steroids and sleep. About asking for help. About how they will ever possibly convince their friends and family they are not lazy or useless. I am generous- we crips always are. They were me. They don't know if they can call themselves that, they would never use that word, but they see me calling myself that, ie, disabled, and the lens is blurring, maybe there is another world they have never seen where crips limp slowly, laugh, have shitty and good days recalibrate the world to our bodies instead of sprinting trying to keep up Make everyone slow down to keep pace with us. Sometimes when I am about to email the resource list, the interpreter phone numbers, the hot chronic pain tips, the best place to rent a ramp, my top five favorite medical cannabis strains, my extra dermal lidocaine patch—it's about to expire, but don't worry, it's still good, I want to slip in a PS that says, remember back when I was a crip and you weren't, how I had a flare and had to cancel our day trip and when I told you, you looked confused and all you knew how to say was, Boooooooooo! as I was lying on the ground, trying to breathe? Do you even remember that? Do your friends say that to you, now? Do you want to come join us, on the other side? Is there a free future in this femme of color disabled body? 3. When I hear my femme say When I'm old and am riding a motorcycle with white hair down my back When I hear my femme say When I'm old and sex work paid off my house and my retirement When I hear my femme/myself say When I get dementia and I am held with respect when I am between all worlds When I see my femme packing it all in because crip years are like dog years and you never know when they're going to shoot Old Yeller When I hear my femme say when I quit my teaching gig and never have to deal with white male academic nonsense again When I hear us plan the wheelchair accessible femme of color trailer park, the land we already have a plan to pay the taxes on See the money in the bank and the ways we grip our thighs back to ourselves When I hear us dream our futures, believe we will make it to one, We will make one. The future lives in our bodies
Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha
I know crips live here
I know crips live here. So many couches and blanket throws. I know crips live here. A bathroom filled with coconut oil, unscented conditioner and black soap. I know crips live here. Your Humira and T on the bottom shelf of the fridge. I know crips live here. Only house on the block with a homemade ramp, property standards so mad. I know crips live here. Big exhale at the shower chair, the slip pads and the air purifier. I know crips live here. I see all the things in reach around your mattress of glory, the vibrator, the library books, the TV, the stuffed animals. I know crips live here. Straws and Poise pads and crosswords and weighted blankets and stim toys. I know crips live here. You've been home for a couple days. A week. That's the imprint of your ass in the couch surrounded by empty bags of food and plates and the Advil and the heating pad. I know crips live here. 50 pounds of epsom salts, from the farm store, your painkiller display like an altar. I know crips live here. I see your EBT card and your fought for DSHS care attendant. I know crips live here. How you taught yourself to be an herbalist so you could afford to manage your pain. I know crips live here. Everybody late. I know crips live here. Your dogs, cats and stuffed animals are part of your family. I know crips live here. Your disabled parking placard a candle in the window. I know crips live here. Welcome You are home.