Nov 10, 2017 Original Poetry
Blind Spot
©November 10th, 2017
By Vijaya Sundaram
I am my own blind spot
Right in the middle
Of mind and matter.
And it matters
That I cannot see what
I see, because of all
I think I see. This I mind.
I mind very much.
I mind very much.
Things come up from the side
And sneak up from before.
And I shake my head,
Relieved at swerving
Just in time.
And when that collision
Does happen,
When I stop to think
In mid-drive, pausing for
Directions, taking note,
Will something come at me
From behind? Will I survive?
Or, when I’m in mid-walk,
Will I walk straight into
That thing that’s been
Waiting patiently on the
Sidewalk where I tread, as I
Read the skies, scan
The air, take the mood
Of the winds,
Unaware of that quiet, patient,
Deadly thing that’s been there
Since the beginning?
And will I adjust my vision?
Will I look around more,
And avoid doing damage,
Or, will I simply sit down,
And refuse to keep moving?
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