This poem was about me, four years ago, without the use of my right hand after yet another surgery. Before that it was my left knee, twice, and now it’s my back … compressed fractures which no surgeon will touch. So into the wheelchair I went. Lupus and RA are insidious. But I’m beginning to get a little mobile again … REIKI HELPS!

Sometimes you just have to laugh, rather than cry. It does no good to wonder why. A writer/editor needs her hands To create and massage the words that land On her desk or spring from her brain. But who’s to pen them? It’s silly insane… To watch irony wreak havoc again… A story,  a novel…of course