TRAWLING.

Here I sit with my electronic fishing gear,

Alone here,

The quiet of the night shattered by the voice,

The only voice which helps me navigate

This sea of words, without my sight.

Listening to the music play,

Drinking tea and thinking all my time away,

I wait patiently as the fisherman with his line and hook,

Then, reading a book

I wait some more, with the little window open,

Having to think of nothing but surviving,

Coping.

The night hours tick by till the light comes to the eyes

Of the sleeping sighted,

As words like birds which land on a twig

Fly from wherever they may be stored till

On this screen they alighted.

The tea all drunk, the pot rinsed out,

All sorts of thoughts run through my head

There’s much for me to think about

Like “What do the trees look like”?

“How’s the dear old dog”?

“How can I describe this state to those who want to know?

It’s not like fog.

Then, “Ah”! I’ve caught one”!

An electronic fish has been caught by my “intonet”,

The pinging sound has told me,

I devour it greedily and reply straight ‘way

Before I may forget

What to say or what the sender may have said.

The message may come from overseas or from

Another blind person unable to sleep sound in bed.

Whichever is the case I smile at the computer screen

As the robotic voice of jaws reads out the words unseen.

There’s so much I have learned – About reflected light in puddles

And vision,

From my friend whose electronic fish

Swim with accurate precision

Straight into my inbox where they stay,

Perhaps to be devoured anew another day,

It matters not whether these electronic meals

Come and go between the sighted and the blind,

They all provide not vitamins for the body

But rather ample sustenance for my mind.