She told me she painted the full length mirror
black for him to look in saying that he’d feel
much more relaxed not seeing his own reflection
staring back. This seemed to me to be a logical
explanation until I saw him stumbling through
the house. “He’s blind ,“ I reminded her, which
came as no surprise. “And deaf besides,” she said.
“But I still read to him each night before he
goes to bed.” “This is absurd. He’s deaf and blind.
You must be out of your mind to pursue this
grotesque charade.” “I know,” she said. “It‘s grim
but you haven’t heard the worst of it. I’ve no
memory, and can‘t remember who he is.

Jack Conway teaches at the University of Massachusetts in Dartmouth and Bristol Community College in Fall River. He is the author of My Picnic With Lolita and Other Poems published by North Country Press in Providence, R.I. His poems have appeared in Poetry, The Antioch Review, The Columbia Review, Yankee, Rattle , The Potomac and The Norton Anthology of Light Verse.




 

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 Jack

 Conway