“VALENTINE” by Nancy Scott

September 12, 2017

I’ve put on East Coast flannel,
chosen the TV remote,
surfed sounds of Picture
Perfect and An Affair
to Remember, landing at last
at my own Magnificent
Obsession, knowing
the blind woman whines too much
given that the rich Rock
Hudson character
has reason to protect her
and that she will see again
by the end of the movie.

When the Saturday night phone rings,
you talk of blowing tumble weed
so far from your former Pennsylvania.
I remind you of our “seeing”
Picture Perfect together
with your knowing narration of the visuals
that lets me “watch”
the movie alone today.
You remind me
of my good memory.

You love New Mexico skies,
mentioning your class learning to shape
the telescope lens to see
even farther west
of your Albuquerque moon—
three hours grinding glass,
coarse grit between two circles,
one becoming convex, slowly.
You know I’ll love the metaphor.

You promise more talk
on your next cassette
of Cassini’s Division —
the discovery that one Saturn ring is not one—
and you do not say
that letter and sound will begin
“not everything vanishes.”

 

nancyscottNancy Scott’s over 650 essays and poems have appeared in magazines, literary journals, anthologies, newspapers, and as audio commentaries. She has a new chapbook, The Almost Abecedarian (on Amazon), and won First Prize in the 2009 International Onkyo Braille Essay Contest. Recent work appears in Breath and Shadow, Braille Forum, Disabilities Studies Quarterly, Philadelphia Stories, and Wordgathering.

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