Posted: Saturday, December 1, 2012 5:08:29 AM
I am completely blind and live to fill the void it creates. I want only to touch upon what I'm missing, to poke a pinpoint through my darkness, so I can see red, and green, and periwinkle, and the night sky, and the sun. All I want is a speck of vision.
Yesterday I looked through my old pictures stashed in a dusty bin, strewn on the floor before me. That my childhood should be reduced to a bunch of images on glossy 4" x 5" paper, the ones I could harness together from the top of my dusty shelf, reminded me of how quickly the past slips away when you. I lay down on my bed and closed my eyes, trying to recall some of the happy memories in those pictures. When I opened my eyes a few minutes later, the track lighting on my ceiling suddenly seemed to blind me, and I winced away in pain.
But it wasn't the track lighting that made me blind. In fact, it is an affliction that all people suffer from as a consequence of having just one opportunity at life. Like blindness, it is the condition of missing a very vital sense: that childhood can be neither relived nor reanimated. I am blind because I am without the ability to re-experience what was once mine, and saddened because this makes me realize that I am missing valuable colors about from the palette of my mind.
I cringe at the notion of time passing, and leaving childhood behind, because I am a visual poet, because I shape my surroundings, along with my deepest feelings-my love, my anger, my hope-into stanzas. And it is frustrating for me not to have the true-to-life sensations of childhood in my repertoire. Poetry makes sense of the world I live in. For anything that matters, I record, and anything I record can never be lost. Poetry opens up channels that flow inward, abounding with the colors of my palette, which converge into a picture of myself.