Words by Magdalena Kozlowski


This piece was first published in Lot’s Wife Edition 5, 2021.

Content warning: discussion of chronic pain.


Acceptance a silt lining


born without easing

the tumultuous question:



My acceptance is not come from choosing,

but an acquiescence to choicelessness


I echo around my home like a layer of desert dust over flowers

odd and still because there is no breeze

windows shut

we cannot let the air in


Sometimes I shut the windows of myself so as

not to let the shrieking out of me.

There is little bravery in this,

the bearing of the pain –

is it brave for a paintbrush to bear its bristles?


I am clogged, the pain of my body a resin, a residue

sticking me down 

striking out items on the calendar

sticking in my throat


Quietly in my shallow pool, I dance


Clumsily, I am asking for a type of rain –

calling for a storm:

wash away the dust over the flowers

unsettle the silt from the bottom of me

I am in a body without comfort and yet I have settled into the too comfortable 



Image credit: Eugene Chystiakov via Unsplash.

Tags : DisabilityPoetry
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