She Remembers Blue
As she perches in a small cave
carved by wind and rain and time
in the chalky gothic walls of Plaza Blanca,
I tell my blind friend,
who has a type of vision not available to me,
about the Sangre de Cristo mountain range at sunset,
fifty miles distant,
capped with snow the color of blood.
She tells me about how even the sound of raven wings
reverberates off canyon walls,
how her tapping cane and her footsteps
make different sounds on stone or sand,
how those sounds come back to her ears
differently from everything she passes.
She says she remembers the sky
from before her eyes closed.
She remembers blue.
by Larry Schug
Editor’s Note: This poem’s narrative hangs on a particular indescribable image, and the emotional impact resonates long after reading.
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