” a lightening scorched scattering of scars”….just one of many exquisite lines in this poem from Angela!
over nearly half a century,
time had worn her threadbare,
a tapestry of thinning, loosened threads,
mindlessly and obsessively pulled
as was necessary, sometimes her suffering was sad enough to silence the songbirds,
and other times, her joy was a melody others couldn’t help but to join
by now, she is a well-worn weather map of shared existence,
a lightening scorched scattering of scars,
a thunderous rattle of broken bones,
some not quite set right
but the seasons continue to change,
and she still manages to make leaves from nothing,
stretching her tired limbs toward the sky and offering herself bare to the thickening light
how is it, she wonders,
that I’ve become a minstrel of metaphor?
she hates metaphors
does shade have a shadow?
what else do we allow time to hide in plain sight?
why can’t something just be what it is?
if time has…
View original post 38 more words
Stories From the Edge of Blindness 