Seeing things
A day of seeing things not there, realising this curve, that angle of light, creates an impromptu face, paints a smile in the floor, a wide eye by the door, watched by a casting shade or sun on a wall I saw a hundred times before. Nothing I could point at, draw round with pen, trace with chalk or my uncertain finger then, hesitating at the juncture of concrete, lips and the nose I was sure of when I touched you and said, an imaginary sentence never used, describing a face you could not see, in the bricks near our house, where we walk by, where I turn, and ask about supper instead. © Amanda J Harrington 2022 My books on Amazon My websites for books and tuition Find me on Facebook and Twitter! Read my Autism blog
