A Thing That Left-Handed People Do.

By Creature Karin Webb

Every day there is a thing that left-handed people do
That women and intersex people also do
That trans and nonbinary people do
That LGB and Aces do
That People of Color do
Immigrants/ex-pats do it too
Foriegners, non-english speakers, and tourists do
That by definition the artists do
There is a thing that kinksters do
And people with disabilities do
That those with a history of sexual assault do
That environmentalists and naturalists do
Radicals do it
Non-christians in this country do
And poor people do it too.

Each day left-handed people translate
The world around us
Into other-sided actions and movements.
We edit instructions
Foolproof plans, and
Jury-rig instruments of use
For our survival.
We do this in order to move through the paths organized by society,
Because divergences have been dis-included
From inception.
Us sinister sorts carry within our minds a hidden mirror
With which to reflect upon instructions
Make sense of structural designs
Not intended for our gifted bodies.
From these translations
Calculations, and
Creative recipes to overcome the traps,
The dangerous reality of moving through space with the wrong foot forward,
Is built an expanded repertoire
Thicker dictionary of understanding
A fattened Grimoire
Authored by the perverts of society.

What we don’t do well is speak of our translations.
So used to the daily practice of counter articulation,
And underground arithmetic for momentum,
We take our inner maths for granted young
Proof pages slipping away silent and unseen.

I do not know the equations of a woman whose skin is dark as soil,
Nor the immigrant’s path and plight
I’m unfamiliar with a Buddhist’s workarounds, or
Those of the boy bound to a mechanized chair.
I’m sure there are crossovers in our notes—
Equations we each work and rework to similar and differing ends.
Still, each of our fun-house mirrored minds
Reveal paths which are hidden to others
On our journeys through to the end.

I think
What is Magic
If not the translation of my desire into steps that can make it so
Against the odds of design?
What is Magic
If not my very survival
In the face of domineering organisms
Suited up in structural normalcy
Armed and organized to erase me?
What is Magic
If not One’s Nature against a system of oppressors
Who would sleep easier
Should marginalized definitions be scattered to the wind
Walled away
Buried deep
Forgotten
Like our bodies?

Dominance as a paradigm is a thing to fear,
A sickness some host in spades
And others yearn for in their ignorance.
Comfort, a parasite,
Masticates its way through vibrant and creative unconscious
Rendering the mind a wasteland of right and wrong,
Black and white,
Right or left,
Mal de tête du moins conscient,
A brain left blind
To multiverse realities around and in between.

Social ease inoculates
Against knowledge of The Ways
Practiced by a wholly connected and
Diversely fluent
Nature.

Play On My Friends,
~ Creature

This writing takes time, research, and consideration. It is my art.
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