Permanently Inconvenienced

No one is saved. Sometimes,

We find we’ve been reprieved.

All children always sound

Like tiny prophets—caught

In sentience that knows

It will know more someday

But for now must pretend—

Not since pretense is fun—

Since prophets and children

Have no other choice but

Silence, and they don’t want

To keep being silent.

Karen disliked being

Labeled as handicapped—

Wanting permanently

Inconvenienced instead.

Good for her. She’s gone now.

I read all about her

As a handicapped kid

Who thought the term

Ugly and ungraceful

Myself, only to find

Disabled was up next.

Labels arrive like death

That way—we can argue

For our preferences, but

The terms move though a world

Larger than us, a world

Of their own, and prophets

Though we were as children,

There’s no rescuing us—

Brief reprieves, permanent

Inconveniences. Breathe.