How can the human brain-
a worm-like mass in our heads-
contain so much information?
It corrals in sights, smells, sounds,
it stores savory flavors. It recognizes my husband
and children. David; Mallory, Reese, and Theo.
It knows my favorite pregnancy craving:
Pickled radishes. Yum.
It knows how to beat up taxes’ butt.
It knows how to make my body warm in the winter and
cool in the summer. The brain is amazing
and mysterious.
My brain doesn’t, however, let me move.
That’s the one thing my brain isn’t amazing at.
I can’t move below my hips.
My legs are numb.
But my brain is still amazing
enough to produce a baby.
I can move my arms, those are fine.
My head is good, too.
My nose still crinkles when I laugh
and my hazel eyes are as sharp as sharp can be.
I just can’t walk.
My children suffer from this handicap-
They’ve never ran with me or went swimming
with anyone but their father.
I watch from the sidelines, cheering them on.
They know I would if I could.
My brain began to deteriorate at 12
years old. My favorite pasttime- running-
became a struggle. My legs wouldn’t put one
in front of the other. I felt like I was in molasses.
My legs felt dead and cool, like lead stubs
instead of fleshy limbs.
But I can still do plenty with my imperfect brain.
I can cook the best chicken mole tacos you’d ever try.
I sell a good amount of homes in the city four times a week,
and I love my family with more capability than
I could ever do with a perfect brain.
Diyana Love,
사랑
The Darling Exposé 