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
©allrightsreserved2011

NIGHT A PRIVATE HELL

Night a Private Hell


Knew, it wasn't right -
his laughing -
while I tried to signal
fear from blind eyes -
cut communication –
be noticed by a bystander.

door latch
higher then me,
listening to shuffle
of his feet –

where could a blind girl
hide in a strange place?

how long before bruises
tangle with insanity?

Afraid to speak out –
a coarse laugh blemished
pigment of the blind,
tears fall covering light -
how trite I must appear?

insignificant, nondescript -
true, he recorded my
every more...
I had to find a passage,
soon.

Hands wrapped - wheels
scrapped on ice - someone
please - read my pain, read my face,
feel cold sweat on my brow.

a friendless world - nightfall
a private hell,
begged for death, to break
his pattern

to melt away as snow.

Nancy Duci Denofio
all right reserved