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Spring
2005
The Canvas
Anne Guzzardi
~~~~~~~~~~~
She is a painter.
She is almost blind.
But she can sense the
dash of the brown bird
flying across the open
lot.
She knows what’s there:
spent Trojans, needles, glass,
the emblems of danger,
but that’s never frightened
or distracted her
and she keeps her eyes
where she knows there was a bird.
She can see what would
be the plumes of acacia
and the bird trying
to light on a rubbery wand near her;
she can feel the balancing
act, although she can’t really see it,
and she waits for the
sparrow to reappear -- which it does – even to her --
this time on the iron
of the railing next to her
she can make out the
shadow, which is also like loss,
before it rises again,
wobbles downward, and then up
to point its arrow toward
the roof line –
right where the blank
sky shows possibility –
and disappears.
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