Poem for the Blind
There is a steel barrel in front of you.
Feel around the lip of the barrel,
a ring of rust. Slip your hand down
into the barrel until it
submerges into the dry center.
Pull out a large bruised pear
and handle the pear
in front of your face. Gently press
your fingers into the largest bruise.
It is the closed eye of an old woman—
her skin smooth as a hound’s ear.
She no longer smiles. Set the pear down
and walk toward a museum T-rex,
the sabers of his mouth warm
as the bulbs of antique
Christmas lights, thousands
of soap bubbles between his teeth
in his open mouth, and in the bubbles
a man’s face surfaces,
in the skin of his face deep purpleno one can reach.
(Published in Plainsongs.)