DAILY LITANY OF THE BLIND EYE by Mark J. Mitchell

Morning breaks with a sound

of glass-gray fog cracking

against sharp green

magnolia leaves and

I can’t see.

Radio coughs to life—

knowing its own antiquity—

and jazz covers

of Dylan tunes crawl out and

I can’t see.

Breakfast—familiar and easy

by touch, by black coffee,

cool milk and childhood

cereals because

I can’t see.

Dark stairs to the street

slapping pockets for necessaries—

back through the red rectangle

for forgotten change and

I can’t see.

Searching the shape

of a bus on a flat hill—

on my right, right—man/woman

in silver running past brushing

me off because

I can’t see.

Then the long day

pointing at landmarks

whose locations I know from the history

of my sight, confident they

haven’t moved because they

are building even

if I can’t see.

Later, that bone-broken journey

post-work home—stupor and scratched

throat like an old L.P. and up

dark stairs praying

not to fall because

I still can’t see.

Finally, the key in a lock

and odor of home and I turn

left off the hall and cover

that one eye because

she is there and

I must see.

Mark J. Mitchell was born in Chicago and grew up in southern California. His latest poetry collection, Starting from Tu Fu  was just published by Encircle Publications. A new collection is due out in December from Cherry Grove. He is very fond of baseball, Louis Aragon, Miles Davis, Kafka and Dante. He lives in San Francisco with his wife, the activist and documentarian, Joan Juster where he made his marginal living pointing out pretty things. Now, like everyone else, he’s unemployed. He has published 2 novels and three chapbooks and two full length collections so far. Titles on request. A meager online presence can be found at https://www.facebook.com/MarkJMitchellwriter/