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.