by Davey Morrison Dillard
“Mud in your eye and a beam in theirs.” That’s
what he told me, the much talked-of Stranger,
when I was led to meet him,
stumbling across the unseen jagged terrain which
had long since been made familiar in my
heels’ most battered memory.
I did not understand why he spit into the dust,
why he sullied my already imperfection,
adding blackness unto blackness;
nor, in wonder (or in, perhaps, confusion)
did I question.
And when I washed—I cannot express
how very like a paradox it was,
darkness cleaving unto darkness
until the faintest morning break of light
trickled into my newly rendered
and I had to shut them for the blindingness
of seeing; for the moisture which was entering
and exiting without and within, as one too young
And so, I tell you, Whether he be a sinner
or no, I know not: but one thing I know,
That once I was blind and now I see.