Blind Fists Cry Out
A stranger wraps his arm’s about
my waist, cold shivers run up and
down my spine,
“They will save him”, I whispered,
“experts you know do this all the time.”
I screamed, “I want to know!”
I flung my arms into the air
as if they had eyes,
“Is he alive?”
I stood to run, tripped, then fell.
Seashells cut apart my legs.
I grabbed some sand into
my fists then cried.
“Tell me, what, does he look like –
is he cold? Is he warm or –
is he blue?”