This is an excerpt from God’s One Hundred Promises by Karen An-hwei Lee.

Where My Names Are

I, the blind woman, clattered up the high dark steps, ascended
soundless deep flights, unkneeling seas of stairs, flare in both eyes.
You have no idea; this is only me in this hour; the shades of my hair,
on their way to silver, are still all the lush colors of chestnut despite
this inferior hour. A woman bears a child, a child bears a woman, trees
continue their cycles of growth, bearing progeny despite their seedless
fruit, a wine tree, centuries ancient, has broken into the cellars.