Ghosts
It floated off to the side,
disappearing when I turned to face it head-on.
It hadn’t his features, really,
but I felt his presence a dozen times after—
something floating just off the corner of reality.
Then, weeks later, in the bedroom—a bat.
It flickered against the white curtain and then disappeared.
Moments later, there it was again.
I jerked my head quickly around, flipped the curtain out,
examined its other side.
Moments later, there it was again.
Then a circle floated across to join it.
A hair floated down from above and stuck, center-vision.
A few hours later, the fireworks started—
flashing corollas of light just to the right of me,
like subtle flashbulbs going off.
This was when I decided I needed to see a specialist.
Yes, a retinal detachment, he agreed,
but not yet perforated.
Now, my movements curtailed,
I await that new cloudy ghost
that will be a harbinger
of surgery.
Every tope, every cobblestone
brings a new flash of light—
a signal to still myself.
No jumping. No Zumba.
No jogging. No lifting.
I wait, inactive, watching floaters
move to the center of my vision
and off to the side again.
I practice various levels of exertion,
waiting for the flash that signals rest.
I wait for words to float
across my vision,
to rend my inactivity
and prompt me
to pin them to the page––
to stitch them together
into a clearer sight
of what is there, invisible,
inside me, waiting for the tear
to let it out.
They are the ghosts
of the future
and I am the one
who seeks to gather them,
to mend the tear
and anchor
these slippery ghosts.
As we sat in the waiting room waiting (of course) for my eyes to fully dilate so the dr could do his tests, Gloria asked what the red dot was on my blouse. I hadn’t noticed it, but the nurse said, “Oh we put that on her to show she’d been dilated!” Two hours later, I was still waiting for the dot to turn green so I’d know my eyes had returned to normal!!!!
Red Dot Syndrome
Artist’s rendering of my retinal disfunction.
Gloria, contemplating my fate.
Retina specialist humor.
An undashing pirate wench
My reward!!! Gloria got to share.
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 
To think that you still managed to win at Cosmopolitan the night before, and direct and photograph the installation of a new piece of garden sculpture. There is no stopping you, girl. Now that you have had the official diagnosis, you must promise not to lift anything heavier than a dessert fork. Are you still wearing a patch? If so, I must say you look jaunty. If not, put it on occasionally and use it as inspiration for a story. Just think of the possibilities…I am already, and they are endless. We could write a book… In the meantime, don’t be opposed to being pampered. There is neighbor next door who knows her way around the kitchen, unfortunately. We pray, of course, that this does NOT mean that your engine will be losing momentum on the Mexican train track. (I am trying to keep an honest and sincere look on my face as I type this.) We will have to do a test run soon. I’m sure you will still be chugging right along. Remember there is NO stopping you!
Hugs and best wishes,
Allenda
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Allenda, personally, I believe she’s faking the whole thing just to ensure that I have to tote in ALL the groceries when I get there. (Yep, see y’all on June 3.)
Detached Retina – sounds like an 80’s garage band that tried to make all their songs sound “ironic”.
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Wonderful poem. At first I thought Bob was coming back for visits. Sorry it’s not that and is, indeed, a new situation. Sounds like you’re getting good doctoring, and Allenda gives better advice than I could in a million years. Love you. Ann
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As usual, Ann, you “got” it from the very first line. That’s exactly what I thought. There is more than one way to experience a vision–or lack of it. You keep coming back like the old friend you are. It’s always comforting to know you are reading and comprehending my words fully. oxoxoxo
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