(With love and respect of Maya Angelou’s Phenomenal Woman)

 

Walking women wonder

where my secret lies.

I’m not able-bodied or built

with long legs that can dance,

but when I start to tell them, they go into a trance

when I say:

It’s the strength of my arms

and the spin of my wheels,

the curves of my spine

and the lies of my hips.

I’m a cripple, phenomenally.

Phenomenal cripple.

That’s me.

 

I roll into a room

with such elegant ease

that even total strangers

will drop down to their knees

to look me in the eye as I say:

It’s the sound of my voice

and the gleam in my eye,

the silk of my words

and my poems that glide.

I’m a cripple, phenomenally.

Phenomenal cripple.

That’s me.

 

Men have often wondered

what they find in me.

They try so hard

but cannot understand

my sexy inner crip.

When I try to tell them,

they claim to still not see.

I say

It’s the scar on my back,

and the warmth of my heart,

the bounce of my breasts

and the grace of my ride.

I’m a cripple, phenomenally.

Phenomenal cripple.

That’s me.

 

Now you understand

why I roll around so proud,

and go about my business

knowing what it’s all about.

When you see me passing,

I ought to say out lout:

There’s no click to my step.

There’s no step in my dance,

but the touch of my hand

and the spell in my eyes.

‘Cause I’m a cripple

phenomellay.

Phenomenal cripple.

That’s me.

 

 

 

Copyright Maria R. Palacios 2018

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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