Dry Eyes
Your eyes were dust, mine were a flood.
The combination, a mire of mud
that we somehow wound up in.
You blamed it on original sin,
but I, agnostic to the core,
had wisdom to walk out the door
to spend my tears on other guys.
Never trust a guy with arid eyes.
The prompt word today was arid.
(Click on photos to enlarge.)
https://ceenphotography.com/2016/09/13/cees-fun-foto-challenge-eyes/
Three hours at the eye doctor’s and $900 later, I have a new pair of progressive lens eyeglasses ordered so no more jiggling two pairs of glasses not to mention having to locate them twenty times a day. This was the cute lady in the frame fitting room modeling a pair of glasses ordered by a man who insisted he wanted rose colored lenses. It was special order requiring much work on their part and of course when they arrived he took one look and said, “They’re pink!” The ladies said yes, that is what rose was and that was why they’d tried so hard to dissuade him from them. Yes. They’re going back to be redyed. And yes, they forgave him. They looked great on her so I made her try them on. Actually, I really liked them on me, too, but my budget is shot for the time being. My next glasses will come from China, but progressives call out for the human touch. Two more days to go before heading northwards.
https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/forgive-and-forget/
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 