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 ...