Nathan Say


A $6 sandwich I didn't pay for: your eyes look fondly.
Perhaps you are saying:
"He's traveling by himself, how noble."

Your "sensitive" ADA Training, your words slithering quietly:
I speak eloquently, "I have a college degree."

Your amazing utterance speaks volumes:
"You've done enough, can you stop now?"
Mother, I haven't done anything at all.

They splatter egg across his face:
(the homeless man asking for a buck)
For me they part ways: I walk between them, down the aisle

"You live alone AND you work?
Good for you, you're so brave."
I am sick; my confidence slides off my body.

You didn't tighten the coffee lid enough
It spills across my shoe
You embarrassed, run into the restroom crying, I clean my shoe myself

I roll in the door exhausted
Tired, I go into the bathroom:
The sink has flooded

2:00 in the morning:
The power goes out,
I with no battery, lose my work

The alarm goes off at seven o'clock
I am late for work
I am living amazingly.

Nathan Say has a Bachelor's degree in history from Brigham Young University-Hawaii. He has been previously published in the Review of Disability Studies: An International Journal. He is writing a manuscript, titled "Two by Two," and lives in Honolulu, Hawaii where he is actively involved in the disability community.