Fall 2010 / Issues / Poetry 2010 / Volume 41

Marine — Jason Bradford

When I was five, I was content

sitting in my wheelchair

at my grandparent’s dining table,

splashing with my “piano hands”

(as my grandma called them)

in a cake pan filled with water.

Only my action figures

could drown

in two inches of water.

If I fell over

my head would not sink

as deep

as in the bathtub,

where, when emerging, exposed,

the wind chill scurries

down my spine like a spider.

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