this photo wasn’t planned:
we’re just here
for my son’s annual
picture to be mailed
with Christmas cards
he’s three now
wearing a rainbow patchwork shirt
hugging Big Bird
Jennie my bestfriend
in blue-flowered top
sitting in her electric
wheelchair
I’m in raggedy
faded t-shirt
never expecting
“Hey, why don’t I take the three of you?”
my arms encircle
my son and my friend
my curly-haired son’s smile
beams trust
Jennie looks ready to laugh
and I’m grinning innocent
Jennie would die in four years
I’d lose my father and another friend
but in this moment
I have the world
Author: Diane O'Neill
Jerrie
Lizzie Smith
Man can go to the moon, but a person who is DeafBlind drinks a glass of water, and people say it’s ‘Amazing’!”
Chicago Spring, 1983
Turtel Onli
How the royal sunrise buttons gleamed: Harold Washington for mayor!
Voting in Logan Square church basement, the line surged out the door.
Are There No Workhouses?
A Poem by Diane O'Neill
Chicago 1972
Red Cups
It’s November but
at Dunkin’ Donuts
Elvis sings about
blue Christmas Frank
warns that Santa
is coming to town I drink
decaf from a styrofoam cup
shouting “Joy”
celebratory red
surrounded by
evergreen boughs and
“Warning: Extremely Hot” while
a few blocks
away
baristas pour five-dollar lattes
in plain red cups
entering the war
on Christmas while
governors vote
to exclude refugees
slash benefits for people
who are poor split families
deporting moms and dads
but let’s make sure
our coffee cups talk about love
and peace on earth
while we rejoice
in our right to bear arms
Language of the Unheard
Julia Mellen
Baltimore burns, White reporters smirk: “What would Martin Luther King say?”
My Son’s Race
At the Y last week, updating my single membership to a family one, I saw my beige hand writing the word black for my son’s race. Not biracial, not black and white, though that would have been accurate, as he is my biological son and I am Irish American. Continue reading