Emily K. Michael
Forgive her, comrades, for she has sinned.
It's been three weeks since our last exchange.
She stopped me after class—hands brushing
wisps of honey hair off her forehead— nervous
complement to confession:
I really admire your work, your spirit,
how you don't let blindness
get you down.
Do I tell her blindness gets me up?
She supposes it's all to do
with her childhood. She had something
of a girl-crush on Helen Keller.
Even learned a little braille–
She can't read the bathroom signs,
but she knows those tiny dots
are for blind people.