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Volume 3, Issue 2
Summer 2007:

Five Poems

Margery Barnett Albertson

Cell 2 Soul. 2007 Summer; 3(2):a18

Submitted by Peter Albertson

Dark as Death

Where are my eyes?
Where is my sight?
I did not expect to see less
When I awoke
Than I did last night,
But I see much less.
No matter how close
My eyes come to the keyboard,
To the screen,
I cannot see the letters
That I saw yesterday.

It is grey outside
With little sprinkles of sun.
I am not sure.
Does blind mean death?
Is it only a few days
Till I can see nothing?
Not the sun, not the darkness without,
Only a world all black,
Dark as death.

I Will Buy a White Cane

I will buy a white cane — tap-tap-tap,
Strangers will grab my arm,
Lead me where I do not want to go.

I will wear a big bib.
When I miss my mouth
And drop food on my lap,
My big bib will protect me.

I will sit eyeless in a soft chair,
Imagine images not there,
Hear words I cannot see,
And be always in darkness,
Scheming to leave this sightless dream.
I will buy a white cane — tap-tap-tap.

Oh Dog Comfort Me

Oh dog comfort me
Now in the hour of my need.
He is my shepherd,
He will lead me to lie along still waters.
And when I trust my soul to keep
He will lie beside me,
Alert for triple-headed Cerberus at at the
Netherworld gate, and if growling is not enough,
Attack each head till the surly mutt is dead.
Oh dog, comfort me now in the hour
Of my fear and my pain.
Lead me to lie beside still water,
Lead me back to life again.

What Is Sleep?

What is sleep
That it evades me?
Is it the little death
Or a lover who leaves
Without explanation?

I do not welcome dawn.
These days dry and long
I would sleep when the sun
Prepares to wake,
But perhaps it is better
To greet the light
Than invite death to my bed.

We Get Through the Days

We get through the days.
We do not really get through the days.

I am at war with everyone, with every thing.
I am at war with myself and all the small battles flow
From the war with myself.

The spring well dries, clean clear water
No longer flows into our cups.
We go to the big spring, fill glass bottles,
Wash and cook with water from the deep well whose
Sulphur smells like Dante's hell.

I am ready to die.
I would like to live a little longer.

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