White canes bend at two places, like fingers

by on Wednesday, 01 April 2009 Comments
 
Cities through fingertips inebriate me.
Everywhere I travel lies this pavement
defining the town with a kerb that may
or may not curve to where I go. Patient,
I like to try and see it with my cane,
slightly slanted in the hand. Not a stick,
a pen I use to trace my life again
as I walk and tap or touch stone or brick
or granite at my feet. No need to prove
God or splendour. If you don’t listen well
to night you may miss the bat that moves
with rubber wing, and flickers round walls
in a feeding frenzy. For the glory
of everything belongs truly to the night,
which holds day as dead retinas carry
light, to watch life with previous sight.


Rethabile Masilo

Rethabile Masilo is a poet from Lesotho who left his country in the early 80s for the United States to study biology. He is married and has two children for whom he enjoys cooking. Rethabile currently lives in France

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