In the dark with my eye doctor,
amongst tools and contraptions
to measure
how much light comes in, where it
wrongly refracts, misaligns
with the retina, she warns
Here comes the bright part, a white-gold
glare filling my vision, an ache—flame,
warmth, sun through
my wide-open windows, so brilliant
that book spines are sapped
of their hues—Keep
those eyes wide open, she murmurs.
Splotches of leaf-filtered afternoon
litter my dashboard
on the drive home, past the Victorian houses
and women in athleisure
briskly pushing strollers—
thinking of my friend and her dog
put down that morning, its toys
now immobile on the rug—
the precious and the perilous lit up,
irrefutable, and how does one
get better at staring
straight on at that blinding
all-of-it, not screw their eyes shut,
to lose it unbearable?
