The View from Here

By Cathy Ulrich

Today, I am tilting my head close-eyed up toward the sky till I can find the sun by its heat on my face, its burn through my eyelids.

What are you doing? my girl says to me.

Learning to be blind, I say.

Why? she says.

I had an uncle, I say, but I don’t say how he was shot in the head, how he lay on the sidewalk face up to the sky, said I can’t see, I can’t see, shadows of bystanders all around him.

My girl kisses the back blade of my shoulder.

Come inside, she says, there’s lunch, and I hear the closing of the door behind her when she goes, open my eyes slow to the sun, stare so long it is like I haven’t opened them at all.


Cathy Ulrich is a writer from Montana. Her work has been published in various journals, including Gone Lawn, Passages North, and Black Warrior Review.

Art by Lesley C. Weston (Watercolor and Ink, with Digital Finish)

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