Unsighted poem
Last week I went to a new creative writing group. It's free, but the community centre funding pays for someone to lead the group, which I've decided works for me better than a group which is run by osmosis. The timing of the group meant I had to use the break in the middle where we had tea and biscuits to go put my glaucoma drops in, which I'd mentioned at the start.
We'd read together a poem called "Small Kindnesses" by Danusha Laméris, which I really liked, and "Best Drink of the Day", by Judy Brown, which was interesting and very Scottish.
What I hadn't thought through was that when I came back with my eyes appropriately medicated, wearing the dark glasses I need after I put my drops in, I wouldn't be able to see what I was writing.
The prompt for the second part of the evening, the theme being "cafes" was "things you cling to". I think we were meant to write about routines and cafes and habits. In the first half, I'd written a poem about my favourite local cafe. It didn't rhyme, but it scanned decently and I was quite pleased with it.
But I couldn't see the paper. I couldn't see the words I wrote on the paper. The whole mind-eye-hand coordination with which I write was cracked.
So, angrily, I wrote:





















