I can see him better

Hummingbird Girl     painting by Rick Beerhurst

 

Here’s a poem I wrote about twenty years ago:

 

Nearsighted

 

 

Although the eye doctor’s chart

melted sadly into the wall ,

I can see this minute before me,

like a snowbird in the feeder

eighteen inches from my face.

We stare at each other through the window.

His black beady eye is watchful.

 

I also can see nouns and ruins,

hairs on my arms,

wrinkles on my hands,

pulls in my stockings and pills in my sweaters.

 

I can see the ocean, near me in my mind.

that same bedroom window at Cape May

every summer for 14 summers,

can see it better than the snow squeezing the field.

 

I can see the hummingbird from five summers ago

better than I can see the finches this morning.

And I can see you, nearby,

on my clothes,

see you with warmth

that lingers.

My glasses

are adjectives,

they clarify,

they make my sight specific

even when they are smudged.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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