If he is the rain, then I am gravel,
parched under the embers of shame,
longing for the relief of him.
He washes the soot of loneliness
from my skin and offers me comfort.
Irish blood and bones, he is
the son of verdant landscapes,
shared pints of stout and fierce loyalty.
He navigates life vigorously
and laughs with his whole body.
His voice carries the tones of Autumn,
rich with the luster of unravelling gold.
I sink into the warmth of his words as
he helps stitch my broken limbs
with threads offered from his heart.
I remember so clearly the night
he wrapped his arms willingly
around my imperfections.
It was the first time I was
touched by honest hands.
Susan Richardson is living, writing and going blind in Hollywood. She was diagnosed with Retinitis Pigmentosa in 2002 and much of her work focuses on her relationship to the world as a partially sighted woman. In addition to poetry, she writes a blog called “Stories from the Edge of Blindness”. Her work has been published in: Stepping Stones Magazine, Wildflower Muse, The Furious Gazelle, The Hungry Chimera, Sheila-Na-Gig, Chantarelle’s Notebook, Foxglove Journal, Literary Juice and Sick Lit Magazine, with pieces forthcoming in Amaryllis. She was also awarded the Sheila-Na-Gig Winter Poetry Prize.