2
Berkeley, Monday Night
by Erin Lauridsen
My white cane arcs a path,
Past paper box and bike rack;
Corner saxophone splutters
Jingle Bells in November.
Broken escalator,
Young student pulls my sleeve.
“Don’t you need the elevator?”
We argue merits of the stairs.
I slip away across the street,
Straight in to a sermon,
“Jesus, donations, and this inspiration
A blind girl walking.”
Down down down the dirty stairs,
In to the warm tunnel wind.
The hiss and slap of turnstile gates,
Five minutes ‘til the Richmond train.
Story stained city,
While I ride my retreat,
I claim you as my own,
Stay always just like this.
photo by Carolyn Lusch