Natalie Illum
PLAYOFFS
Men are always tackling things.
I don't understand how they crush
bones for the touchdown, break
ribs for the goal. I've never stolen
a base, or dove into the spectators
for the win. Some men keep score
by the number of concussions
they can survive, with
black eyes and bruised collarbones;
all for the trophy. Me,
I've never fallen for
the sport of it, or ruined joints
out of spite for the referee.
I am on the sidelines, watching them
disable themselves, body part
by body part.
For the locker room boasting.
For the dance of their coaches'
approvals. They don't accept
comas or wheelchairs. Cannot
imagine titanium screws, not
until they become them
with only 10 seconds left before
half-time.
Half the time, I am wishing
I could be their cheerleader;
naive and wanting nothing
more than to be Captain. A girl
who stands high on that pyramid;
no fear of falling.
* * *
HOW EXCEPTIONAL
People say about premature babies
what they do of shark attacks:
it's highly unlikely you will live.
Except when you do.
One of us is a Survivor
and the otheran Inspiration!
Cheer for one, then cry
for the other.
Both born out of fear
of monsters.
* * *
CELL*
I am not telling the truth.
It is far easier to tell of
the way a heart feels
when scraped over
a bedroom radiator as it clanks
against the freezing air
than to admit
I turn your collarbone into life raft.
I swallow
Your promises into pebbles
to become what grounds you, so you never have to feel
like leaving.
I am not one to go turning my jaw into clay for your fingertips;
grow my hair out for
the pulling.
I didn't let
the camera catch me smiling, barely
showed my teeth
until you.
When winter invaded, you made sure my ears were ready for
the chilling.
Falling in love with you is the avalanche that keeps
burying me.
You are frozen into every cell.
How can I write about the way I blush steady at
the fever?
your pulsing. How
can I scream of buckling?
my voice
is still
the door key
you never returned.
*Because the line spacing on "Cell" may show up differently in different browsers, an alternate version for viewing or printing can be viewed
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Natalie E. Illum is a poet, disability activist and singer living in Washington DC. She is a 2017 Jenny McKean Moore Poetry
Fellow, and a recipient of an 2017 Artists Grant from the DC Arts Commission, as well as a nonfiction editor of The Deaf Poets Society Literary
Journal. She was a founded board member of mothertongue, a women's open mic that lasted 15 years. She competed on the National Poetry Slam circuit
and was the 2013 Beltway Grand Slam Champion. Her work has appeared in various publications, and on NPR's Snap Judgement. Natalie has an MFA in
creative writing from American University, and teaches workshops across the country.
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