Sometimes I raise my hand
to brush the curl
from the left side of my face
but it is only a new squiggle of blood
floating in the vitreous
of my remaining eye.
Sometimes I remember you saying
Mama, I will be your eyes
let me help you in this dark.
I brushed away your little hand
not wanting to burden you with my lack.
Now I wish I had let you lead.
Sometimes I feel you lurking
behind me in the kitchen
I turn, call your name aloud
only your cat, Coconut, answers.
*Named for Celtic Goddess of Fire
Jayne A. Pierce is a disabled feminist poet, writer, activist, librarian and mother. Her life continues to be revolutionized from living with Type 1 diabetes since childhood. Visually impaired and restricted with heart disease, she cannot help but write with her new perspectives.