Was it truly blindness?

It was February when I inquired.

I don’t recall knowing color when I was born, he said.

Not culturally, at least.

But the education came soon enough. Far too quickly.

Traded childhood for survival.

Mama kept it together. Pops too.

Both gone now.

Live now in a vacuum. Covered in ice.

It’s what they proudly give. Generously.

I remain quiet. Respectful. Blind.

Much better that way.

Handicap of survival.

Throughout the seasons.

All seasons of ice. White ice.

And the color of money.