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Gold Medalist

By E. B. de Vito / December 30, 1992



Smaller than the others, he faced the camera with a look of disbelief fingering the medal as though to assure himself that it belonged to him; as though, in his own perception, he was the weakling, runt - the one that no one could believe might win. And I thought once more, we understand so little of what we see that what seems to be an insurmountable obstacle@POEMTEXT = may be made of clouds, mist, vapor, mountains of fog. Turn around, and the wind that blew against you changes its mind and you may find that now, it propels you forward from behind. And I thought how once, in China, I visited a place with ivory carvers and there, the most intricate and delicate of designs was carved by a hand six-digited: four slender fingers with two perfect thumbs.

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