My friend Aria Rosas is blind. Well, nearly so and innocent in many ways, with shapely legs and popup smile. But, still she seems to sense somehow the subtle shift from black to gray that just one strand can make, a lovely strand playing lush chords between her legs, an octave shift in G. She said she heard it enter, this first gray hair, a supernumerary, an actor out of place, prancing speechless in pink pumps through the opera of her life. A bit player, really, waving a silver spear, bowing to the balcony. Blowing gawdy kisses into the air. For Aria, who masks her blank and wandering eyes behind rose-tinted glasses – with tiny rhinestone hearts embedded in the lens – there isn’t much to see. But still, as she gets older, she unplugs her pink bedside lamp and hums while her lovers grope through darkness, using unseeing fingers to direct her swelling silver chorus.
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1/17/2021 9:59:39 PM # 1.0.0.396