Her eyesight scrubbed away by blackness,
the blind woman passes through tilted days
and solitary nights. A keeping so fixed
the constant allows no choice,
even as she wrestles that blackness down
onto its shoulders and pins it to the mat,
a silent oppression still persists,
not out of authority or delight,
but by its own incessant existence.
Handicap smudged her unborn eyes
with prejudice, a sentence passed
without shame nor right, delivering her
as a knickknack clutching a white cane,
a bruised statue set on an outworn mantle.
Prologues are probed by arms and footsteps
and epilogues bridge in memory’s wake.
Solutions answer should sudden measure error,
being of hands and feet to catch at that
as she makes what’s met an invited guest,
even as she turns an insidious corner.
Freedom cracks in through her skin
without leaving a wound. Fear is laid away,
this blind woman needs no mirror to begin.
Grey Sparrow Journal 