ManicDDaily

Dimly Perceived

You would think a person going blind
would turn inward; at least set sights
on reknowned beauty,
but I find myself staring fixedly
at the bright blink of dishes I splash
at a scratched white sink,
without thinking overmuch
of either the timeless or
my soul,

and often on my train–
the Hudson line–which passes through
one of the world’s great riverscapes, I escape
into a teeny screen, its gleaned print winking
at my squint–

which is the gist of this–
that I am not so much looking for an answer,
as an answer back,
a response to my blurred toss
in this postmordial, mortal, pond,
an acknowledgement that you (meaning me)
are still here/really here/here now
and that I (meaning you) hear you (that’s me
again)–

the problem perhaps being
that the Hudson and its hills don’t always speak
in decipherable tones,
while the screen knows well
how to spell my name;
the dirty dishes too are personally insistent–
”you missed that crud on my back, Blindie!”
one important vowel sound off
what I was called in my heyday–

though, of course, there’s a part of me,
the part that would turn like a tree to sun
rather than a dog to hand’s pat,
that knows I should look
at mountains more,
that they might teach me
about staying power and what it’s like
to have rocks for eyes,
sky-lids–

That I should look out to the river too
as it washes
its both sides.

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For Real Toads, Tuesday Open Link.  (Above a pic from the Metropolitan Museum of Art, NYC, and below, some divide in the Hudson River, taken from the train–you can see train light at the top and track at the bottom.  All rights reserved.)