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What he’d seen with his ears

06.14.20 Posted in today's words by

Lalita Noronha has a doctorate in Microbiology/Biochemistry and is also a poet and writer. She is the author of a short story collection, Where Monsoons Cry (BlackWords Press) which won the Maryland Literary Arts Award and two poetry books, Her Skin Phyllo-thin (Finishing Line Press.) and Mustard Seed: A Collage of Science and Art Poetry (Apprentice House Press, 2016). She has received three Maryland Individual Artist Awards in three genres ( Fiction, 2002,  Poetry 2017 and Creative Nonfiction, 2019.) Others credits include awards from Arlington Literary Journal, Dorothy Daniels National League of American Pen Women, and Pushcart Prize nominations in Poetry and Creative Nonfiction and an editor for the Baltimore Review.

What he’d seen with his ears
By Lalita Noronha

After forty years,
he’s told to open his eyes
and see.

The doctors introduce her,
“your wife,” he hears them say,
and sees

someone come forward,
kiss his cheek,
it’s me, she says,

lifts his finger tip to her upper lip,
lets him trace the dip
the valley between two mountain peaks.

Now his eyes can see
what he’d imagined from descriptions,
what he’d seen with his ears.

When last he saw,
He was crawling on the floor,
since then, no image was archived.

Now no switch flips to take him
to what he’s seen before,
no neuronal path lights up,

Now his eyes must learn
the curve of the curb
the step down─three inches or six?

Now he knows
that he has no way to know,
even what he does not know.

One Response to “What he’d seen with his ears”

  1. Thank you so much for accepting my poem. I am excited and honored to be in the company of poets through their words.

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