We’re so blessed by the wide community of talented d/Deaf and disabled artists and writers in this country; it’s kind of ridiculous how good the submissions to this issue were.
Chronic illness is like dust. I have one of those syndromes– / where symptoms are layered upon layers, and the pain renders /
my body an arid landscape.
Mouth a skipped stitch through the purple bruise of your gown. Gauze your tongue to prevent the spread of inflection. Rebuild yourself with blocks of ice.
