The Day He Wasn’t Neurotypical.
When my son was born, I wrote this: Woowar Inside your safe and dryness, storm-drenched, I’m happy. Wrapped in your sighs and smiles, all aches and shivers, I’m well. Beside your sleeping skin – soft as silk, pale as paper -Wakeful and despairing, I’m peaceful. Bound up in your absurdity, afraid and… Read More