The Blind Lady

 

 

She sits in an armless chair wearing a wool cap and rocks back

and forth.  Even when it's cool, she wears a long, thick bathrobe.

Mumbling something at herself is what she's usually found

doing.  Many times, she truly believes she is speaking

with someone.  And the sunglasses she wears shine.

 

If I wear my sunglasses,

could I see what the blind lady sees?

 

At night, alone in her room, the blind lady sees visions

of loved ones sitting beside her, laying beside her,

standing in front of her, smiling, weeping, and even (sometimes)

without a figure.  She is blind, yet the details are incredible.

Her family thinks she is crazy.  But incredible as they may

seem, the stories, the details, they all become my obsession.

Alone in my room, the darkness overwhelms me.  Lying in

bed, the anticipation of the blind lady's visions intensifies.

There are no visions.

 

In the morning, the blind lady sits in her chair wearing the

same wool cap and rocks back and forth.  No sunglasses.  My

eyes catch hers and it seems as though she is looking directly

at me.  Perhaps she sees the same way behind the sunglasses.

This made me think, my wearing sunglasses would only keep

the sun out of my eyes and serve as a cheap disguise from

bothersome persons.

 

How could I possibly see what the blind lady sees?

People say she hallucinates.  But who's the true hallucinator?

Besides, the blind lady is loved whether she wears

sunglasses or not.  If you don't believe me, just look

closely into her eyes and you'll probably catch a vision

or two smiling at her.  Not you.

 

If I cut off my ears,

could I still hear my grandmother calling me?

Reviews

[Dutch Jr.]

This piece is very vivid, descriptive, and well-written. Nice job.