Writer's Showcase: Michelle A. Sarabia, M.A.
World Autism Awareness Day on April 2, celebrated the unique talents and skills of persons with autism. In recognition of this event and Autism Awareness Month, we are showcasing the writing of talented individuals on the autism spectrum on our website. Please send your short stories, poetry, and song lyrics to editors@autismspeaks.org for consideration. Autism Speaks reserves the right to edit contributions for space, style and content. Due to the volume of submissions expected, we may not be able to publish them all.
World Autism Awareness Day on April 2, celebrated the unique talents and skills of persons with autism. In recognition of this event and Autism Awareness Month, we are showcasing the writing of talented individuals on the autism spectrum on our website. Please send your short stories, poetry, and song lyrics to editors@autismspeaks.org for consideration. Autism Speaks reserves the right to edit contributions for space, style and content. Due to the volume of submissions expected, we may not be able to publish them all.
The Attic
A brief comment on experiencing incurable chronic illness
My thoughts flutter in a small open space
Cocooned by dark fatigue,
Like a sparrow, trapped,
Among the dusty eaves of a house newly vacated.
Shuttered windows wrongly darken the floor
Unused to the lack of sparkle and warmth from the golden sun
Whose beams now slide a soft caress of memory
But do not penetrate the gloom.
Echoes of laughing voices and happier times
Triggered by soft queries from children creeping softly into my bedroom,
Gentle arms across my shoulders offering slight but welcome medicine
Longing to find some impossible reservoir of hidden energy to turn my head,
Whisper softly, “I love you, too, my little one.”
Too young, too old, for social pity,
Not yet, not yet, my children not grown,
My work incomplete.
Desperate wings beat futilely against eaves and shutters,
Dreams battering bruises into helpless heaps of feathers
Blown away by the gentlest breeze.
A brief comment on experiencing incurable chronic illness
My thoughts flutter in a small open space
Cocooned by dark fatigue,
Like a sparrow, trapped,
Among the dusty eaves of a house newly vacated.
Shuttered windows wrongly darken the floor
Unused to the lack of sparkle and warmth from the golden sun
Whose beams now slide a soft caress of memory
But do not penetrate the gloom.
Echoes of laughing voices and happier times
Triggered by soft queries from children creeping softly into my bedroom,
Gentle arms across my shoulders offering slight but welcome medicine
Longing to find some impossible reservoir of hidden energy to turn my head,
Whisper softly, “I love you, too, my little one.”
Too young, too old, for social pity,
Not yet, not yet, my children not grown,
My work incomplete.
Desperate wings beat futilely against eaves and shutters,
Dreams battering bruises into helpless heaps of feathers
Blown away by the gentlest breeze.
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