Tag Archives: touching

Listening to Rain

3 Dec

by Charlotte Poetschner

I once heard a blind scholar
Speak on the radio
About his academic pursuits and how these shifted
With the blinking out of his eyes.
The broadcast caught his voice and the chuckle of thunder,
As the man led the way from office to classroom.
In spite of it all,
He said he liked how the rain
Gave him back the sky.
In mist, whisper light upon his eyelids,
He saw the curved bottom of the clouds.
Touching everything
Like a universal cane tip,
Hissing on pavement,
Tapping the umbrella of the trees,
Knocking along gutters, edging the roofline,
The rain sketched in quick pencil greys,
as he walked by.
 

Charlotte Poetschner is a lifelong writer and poet. She is unpublished at this time, but is working on her first novel manuscript. For over twenty years, her main writing commitments involved preparing a weekly sermon, creative dramas and liturgies for worship and essays for church newsletters for her ministry as a Presbyterian pastor. Charlotte has been blind herself from diabetic retinopathy since 1986.

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The Braille Lesson

16 Nov

by Paul Hostovsky

The letters were all locked up in the Braille cell
calling to her in one voice as she passed her index
over them. It was her first day, her first lesson.
How could they possibly fit in there, she asked him,
and how would she ever learn to tell them apart
without a pencil sharpener for her finger? She laughed
as she said this, and her laughter touched something in him
that needed to be touched. He suggested she try
touching the letters to her lips, because her lips
knew better, and could feel what her fingers could not,
not yet, being a beginner. Then he took a deep breath
as she held the white page up to her face, so it looked
like she was reading with her eyes, but really she was
reading with her lips. And yes, she could feel the dots
better that way, she said, and continued grazing them
with her imperceptibly pursed lips—not kissing them
exactly, just grazing them with her mouth, the way lovers
do between kisses. And although his lips would never
find her lips, her finger did eventually learn all the letters
and contractions by heart. And to this day it still
sometimes returns to her lips, to tap there abstractedly,
as though thinking of him. Or so he likes to think.

 

Paul Hostovsky is the author of four books of poetry, most recently Hurt Into Beauty (2012, FutureCycle Press). His poems have won a Pushcart Prize and two Best of the Net Awards. He makes his living in Boston as a Braille Instructor and Sign Language Interpreter. To read more of his work, visit him at http://www.paulhostovsky.com