“Song of the Blind First Grader”

Azimuth Points

Robert A. Fink

Song of the Blind First Grader

I hear yellow
crisp as lemon
rising from the pencils in the room
that smells like letters
traced against the air.
I taste the squeak of chalk
across the board, the cymbals clash
of Christmas perfume
and climb upon my desk
and sing again the joy
sharp as sparklers
cutting circles in the night.