The earliest I can remember writing is when I was five years old

	The earliest I can remember writing is when I was five years old. Of course, physically you can't write then, but I dictated a story to my family that was over ten pages about Rainbow Bright. Everyone took turns writing. Nothing influences me to write, you can't wait for the influences. You have to find them. When I have time to write, is when my influences take shape on the page. I guess, if you mean what subject makes its way into my writing most, it's certainly that I have use a wheelchair. I write to honor people's assumptions and understandings as well as to broaden and/or break them. The same is true for myself. There are so many poets who have influenced me... I guess it would have to be the poets who I'm closely connected with: Pam Normura, Pit Pinegar, Hugh Ogden, Rafael Oses, Maureen O'brien, Alison Meyers.... My favorite book is Janet Fitch's White Oleanders. It's poetry and fiction merged and speaks artfully of the suffering and endurance of the human spirit. My advice to other writers is to take advice, learn from it, throw it away when you're threw and recycle it how and when you need to. Please don't ever give up on your dreams... even when your feel as is you're lagging behind others.... remember you're always ahead of someone else. In the end it doesn't matters where you are or why, what matters is that you're where you want to be. Sarah
	A Pipe Dream At the Nauagtuck Valley Mall When it was still standing, We used to ask our mother for pennies. She’d rummage through the depths of her purse, Brown, leathery bulk, and pull out her wallet. It matched the leather and she twisted the golden clasp open. She’d dig for copper, surpassing all silver. We each got one penny, one wish. Brick trapped the water Black iron bars were a fence, The brick jutted out farther than the bars And my sister would stand on the edge. Her LA lights blinking, She extended her thin, brown hand. Closing her eyes, she’d make a wish, Letting the coin meet the concrete bottom of the fountain. Pennies glittered and I wondered Who collected all those coins. It was my turn. I drove my wheelchair As close as I could And gave the coin away To my sister. I made my wish, keeping my eyes open Watching between the bars as the penny descended. I wished I could stand On the edge and throw it in But that wish never came true. Sarah R.
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