SIDERIUS SHORT POETRY
COMPETITION, 2024
strikes my eyes dumb. They can no longer tell me
how the room maps. I fumble
for foothold, fingers groping black air,
stumble against uncompromising edges,
muttering apologies until the usher
moves in to take my right hand in her own.
I clutch its steadiness like one drowning.
Applause, lights up. And she is at my side
like an appointed guardian. I don’t need her,
say so. But she’s made me understand
how I will need a guiding hand at last
to bring me safely through the world of shadows
to whatever haven.