Cripples have hearts inside their hearts
Think of the worm inside the thistle
Think of old prayers stuck on the walls
Prayers seen by the rarest of children
Think of memories holding out
Against the sluiced days
Of cruelties and shattered glass
There “were” good afternoons
Often they were spent alone
As it was with me—
Blind in the attic
With a Victrola
You’ve everything you’ll need.
I held a picture book
An inch from my face
To see Caruso with Helen Keller
The tenor gently guiding her fingers
Across his throat as he sang
Deep in the heart
Inside the heart
Rain now passes over
The cripple rain
Which will produce
Hearts and hearts
But always with
Smaller hidden ones
As with so many things
The fierce beauties…
Planet of the Blind 