TextaQueen is a non-binary, disabled, settler-immigrant Goan writer, curator and artist living on Wurundjeri Country. Wielding tools beyond their namesake felt-tip, they present creative non-fiction, personal essays, satire, and poetry about othered bodies, land, power, trauma, and their relationships. Their writing has appeared in Disability Arts Online, Peril, Bollywouldn’t, and Crip Stories. They have performed their poetry and creative storytelling as a guest for Ilbijerri’s Foley and on tour with Radar Production’s Sister Spit across Turtle Island (USA and Canada). Texta received a 2023 Writers Victoria Writeability Fellowship for mentorship with Natalie Harkin.
Photograph by Pia Johnson.
return
traffic through double glass
thrum of a world beyond
the return to normal
they’re sold on a solid idea
relief is ahead
destinations on offer again
desired things ready to be found
outside is a world
determined to meet its end
inside we sit alone and take note
left behind out of time
we continue to make time obsolete
voice notes skim oceans in an instant
first words i’ve spoken out loud today
DM Seen 3:14am
chain-smoking loneliness since 2020 <3
discord from ableds shared in an app
omfg i’d have a meltdown too
threads stitch us together out-of-sync
group chat alert vibrates
somewhere under blankets pets pills
phone as hard to find as spoons
our connection untied to consistency
we send each other ease we wish to feel
our choirs meet on screens
wormholes to let us warble
there is no path to light
no A to B to Z
no numbers will be called
there is nothing to fail
productivity is fake
success is brief illusion
our harmonies fade out the hum
return us to each other
back to the disabled future
Notes
‘spoons’ as units measuring finite disabled capacity coined by Christine
Miserandino in The Spoon Theory.
‘productivity is fake’ from a lutte collective poster and t-shirt design that reads
‘time is not real/productivity is fake/what you produce doesn’t matter’.
‘back to the disabled future’ alludes to Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha’s
book The Future is Disabled.
this flower has a spine
on my footpath i find a flower
it has a spine
moves like a centipede
thin black petal legs
encased in carbonite shell
blood of liquid copper
invisible to everyone but me
i pick it up
for my white polo buttonhole
fifty of one hundred legs
tickle my neck
we wriggle in my uniform
i carry it on the school bus
kids-a-tumble bubble
the melting pot
ready to liquefy me
my flower’s cool felt feet
patter rhythms on my collarbone
we stay solid together
everyone underwatch in class
butts suction to plastic seats
my companion dares to free itself
scuttles across my desk
jumps around the room
past teacher
chalkboard
wall charts
slithering in the ears of every kid
learning how to be one
my clever friend returns to me
sits up on my shoulder
reports its research
whispering clicks and whistles
slides back inside my shirt
if only i understood its language
POEM: prescribed for the temporary relief of pain
care note: self harm
DIRECTIONS FOR USE
• Ball fist until nails break skin
° place palm on margarita rim
° salt the red crescents
° savour the sting
• Bite inside of cheek hard
° taste sweet metal seep
° refuse ice if offered
° wait for welt to form
• Outside club sit drunk in gutter
° hit head against concrete
° until someone intervenes
° or skull cracks
• Drag kitchen knife against wrist
° if too dull to draw blood
° get some help
° to sharpen the blade
• Run boiling bath to full
° sink in without flinching
° submerge with open eyes
° see if you survive