Following An Unpronounceable Diagnosis by Maya Klauber
Following an Unpronounceable Diagnosis
You could have told me that I was plucked from
some infant field in the sky—the bruised fruit
of a celestial tree. Or maybe washed up on the
banks of a cosmic river. With predestined pain
set to scare my young parents. Pain like dry stones
knocked together; like all-over-fires, never burning
low. As a child, I woke crying so loudly, it scared
the dogs. Hot knees, unbending, unable to descend
the staircase. Joints double their size, as if bees
had stung angry halos around them all night.
But aren’t we all just one unbridled gene away from
disease? If you should find yourself walking your own child
down fluorescent hallways—pray that someone sees
this intangible ache. Pray, at least, they’ll give it a name.
About the Author
Maya Klauber is a poet and artist living New York City. Since childhood, she has coped with painful, chronic health issues --experiences that have undoubtedly helped shaped her as a person and writer. Most recently, her work appears in Bellevue Literary Review, Intima: A Journal of Narrative Medicine, Sky Island Journal, The Awakenings Review,The Sunlight Press, tiny wren lit, among others. You can often find her exploring Central Park with her beloved husband and dog.