She has braces on her teeth and wears a blue and orange plaid cotton shirt:
One of fourteen students
Wiggles, chatters, finds her way into her friends' poems.
Straightens her back like a pianist readying herself for a performance.
Sitting upright, intent she completes, aloud, ahead of the others
Their own, half-formed images. "Damnit, Marcie, whose poem is this?"
They squirm, they squabble, and defer. Composing herself, both hands moving smoothly
Over an embossed, a braille keyboard of otherwise blank pages, she reads
From a manuscript of dots.
Robert Sward 4.96