Being blind I have this little bit of luck: I’m not prepossessed of the idea that I “know” the place I’m visiting. On the airplane headed for Tucson I hear the businessmen talking of golf–Tucson is for them simply a kind of shopping mall.
By faith he sojourned in the land of promise, as in a strange country…
Being blind its all a strange country…
To which I’ll add: by faith its all a strange country…
I don’t get my news of the United States from TV.
I take my news from well meaning strangers.
I take my news from the sheep eating apple peels.
Its all a strange country…
I can find well meaning strangers.
I can walk in strange cities alone.
Can you?
S.K.
Planet of the Blind 
Love it! Beautiful idea.
Don’t know if you’re in the mood to generalize, but if you are, I was thinking about being disabled as being a foreigner. At the moment, I happen to be both. The disabled person being in a ‘strange country’ where they don’t understand her and she doesn’t understand them…
A million qualifications to that statement, but poetry perhaps isn’t the place for them. And I’m not sure how much you feel the above connects with your way of thinking about it, if at all…
Peter
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