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January 26, 2017 / barton smock

{no poems- but dates, times, etc}

my 7 year old son fell out of his wheelchair yesterday. somehow managed to press the buckle hard enough.  he’s okay, he’s okay.  his mother lifted him unmoving from the hardwood.  she brushed his hair, checked his head, ran her eyes and hands over his body, had him stretch and stand to assess pain.  he didn’t seem to think anything had happened-  hey mom, you okay, did you fall or something?  but I have this question.  can I, can we, negotiate yet another new world?  I know the answer of course.  as does my son.  so many, lately, so proud of their one piece puzzle.

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