Serving the Blind Girl
Eugene sits in his big yellow chair to polish his spike.
I watch as he brushes the chamois over the walnut pole
until his fingers are stained darker than his skin.
We try to please her with small things, whatever we can manage.
I am embroidering a pillow for her with lilies that she can touch
on the surface of the rough cloth, perhaps even feel their color.
The blind girl is the last of her kind but she is not a witch,
not those poor creatures that were burned or drowned.
She calls us in visions when our services are needed
to purify our flock, and graciously we comply.
We are hers to bid, as a mother would bid her children,
and not a one of us dares question her except for fools
such as Rafe, misshapen and foul-mouthed, often drunk.
So it was natural that his blaspheming head wound up
on the sharp end of Eugene’s pole, supper for the crows.
There is always a great feasting and celebration
whenever a head finds its way to the spike,
when the blind girl calls.
Marge Simon lives in Ocala, Florida and is married to Bruce Boston. Her works appear in publications such as DailySF Magazine, Silver Blade and Urban Fantasist. She edits a column for the HWA Newsletter, “Blood & Spades: Poets of the Dark Side.” She has won the Strange Horizons Readers Choice Award, the Dwarf Stars and Elgin Awards and the Bram Stoker Award® for Poetry Collection.