Archive | November, 2015

Bazaar

26 Nov

by Nancy Scott

Gift bags folded from scraps of gold wallpaper,

crocheted dishtowels buttoned most-needed close,

plastic-canvas memo holders that hang on doorknobs.

I seek reliable recycling and brilliant bargains

between the smell of sauerkraut and talk of fudge.

 

The hunt for giveable taste and good intentions is palpable,

priced to tempt and to sell.

Proceeds benefit the Senior Center.

Circles of minds and hands have plotted since March.

Christmas calls “hurry” in suddenly-cold November.

 

The prayer rocks pull me.

I buy four weighted, blue cotton bags,

find instructions attached by red ribbons:

“Place on pillow to tap

the heads of those too comfortable.”

 

On the last table, feathered angels wait.

Their wings billow slow lace

but they have no faces.

They need only second sight.

I buy one for myself.

 

Nancy Scott’s over 650 essays and poems have appeared in magazines, literary journals, anthologies, newspapers, and as audio commentaries. She has a new chapbook, The Almost Abecedarian (on Amazon), and won First Prize in the 2009 International Onkyo Braille Essay Contest. Recent work appears in Breath and Shadow, Braille Forum, Disabilities Studies Quarterly, Philadelphia Stories, and Wordgathering.

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I Like Your Boots

17 Nov

by Jenny Marie

A cane, no, my long cane (I correct myself) sits next to me, I assume they don’t know that they are watching me, but the fact is I don’t need 20/20 vision to know the feeling of eyes on me. I wonder what I look like to them: the weak girl? Someone who needs to be healed? I hope they see a blind woman, who isn’t afraid to use her long cane, who isn’t hiding what makes her different. I would hope they see me as a pretty, funny, smart, and all other things they see other nineteen year olds as.

I stand up holding my cane out. It is a short walk to the bus stop.

But before I get there, a man, older by his tone, asks me if I need any help? I tell him that I know where I am going. He huffs, and he leaves my field of vision, or walks away quickly – with me, I honestly don’t know. I listen to the city around me. The cars, of course, passing by, a woman with high heeled shoes, the laughter of a child, a dog barking. But then I smell it: coffee. I wish I had a phone on me to check the time, but since I don’t I ignore my coffee craving.

I hear a little girl ask her mother why I use a big white stick?

Her mother says “because it helps her see.”

I correct her and tell the little girl it doesn’t help me see, but does help me find the objects I would walk into or trip over.

Then shockingly she says “Mommy, I want one!”

I can almost hear her mother thinking of something to say, but I do it for her. The only way you can use a cane like mine is if you’re blind, and while I am happy, your mommy would be upset if you were blind.

I hear them walk away and the little girl now says she wants a pony.

I hope I didn’t make her think being blind is a bad thing, or make her think I am not happy, but the truth is, the little girl has walked away, and I hope what I came up with was better than what her mind might create, or her mother might say.

I hear a young woman run up, and ask if she missed the bus? I say no, and notice she is about my age.

“I was so worried that I did” she mutters, and then she says something that shocks me, “I love your boots, by the way. Where did you get them?”

Jenny Marie is a blogger, writer and reader. As result of a horse accident, she has CVI: cordial visual impairment, which mostly effects children.” Jenny’s blog is http://blindhorsegirl.wordpress.com/

The Circle

8 Nov

by Jim Holzman

Two ambulances screaming down different streets

to the same ER with polar opposite stories to tell…..

 

Bobby got a brand new gun,

after work he was headed to the shooting range

to have some fun.

 

Leslie’s race is nearly run

soon she’d welcome to the world

a brand new son.

 

Later that night

Bobby got into a drunken fight. So wired,

he didn’t feel any of the shots that were fired.

 

If the doctor was right she would need all her might.

Leslie was beyond tired,

soon to arrive, the boy they both desired.

 

In a hospital bed as he clings to life

screams of denials come from his wife.

How did things get so bad? Was a secret part of her glad?

 

Leslie starting to push, the doctor exclaims, “I can see his tush!”

Her husband’s life that he thought to be so bad

completely changes when the nurse calls him dad.

 

A man dies,

A baby cries,

The circle of life.

 

Jim Holzman has RP, is a volunteer at Second Sense blind service organization in Chicago and likes to hide his talents – such as being a poet! His first attempt at poetry at our writing workshop could just lead to a new journey.