BLIND FISTS CRY OUT

Blind Fists Cry Out

A stranger wraps his arms about
her waist - shivers run up and
down her spine -

"They will save him," she whispered,
"Experts do this all the time."

She fingered sand as it fell through
her fingers, heard sea gulls squawking,
and legs splashing – faint voices
mumbling in the distance.

“Is it day or is it night?
Her body unskilled - slipped over
sand.

She screamed, "I want to know!"
She flung her arms above her head
as if they had eyes – to the wind -
"Is he alive?"

She stood to run, tripped, and fell.
Seashells cut sporadic lines on her legs -
her head bent, she grabbed sand –
squeezed her fists, and cried.

A stranger’s voice, a touch patted her
back and asked, "Are you the mother?"

She reached to feel her face.

"Tell me – what . . . does he look
like - Is he cold? Is he warm
or - is he blue?”

Nancy Duci Denofio
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