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Cataract Surgery

The long and the short of it was my vision.
Short on the left, and long on the right,
and bifocal lenses did not fill the bill – mono-vision,
single-intraocular implants, the only way to bring back the
vibrant light of recognition – oh! sumptuous sight!
And yet my dependence on the one sense
robs me of another.  A vacuous stare at the coq au vin
even taking in the rich colors of wine-roasted vegetables
will never replace the aroma, incomparable, with sight;
which of course holds no sway over the vibrating strings
manipulated by the Baroque masters, my ears are not
trumped by the look of black dots on white paper –
no matter what memories are stirred by their sight.
Nevertheless, I squeeze out a row of medicinal cream,
slather it over my eyes to prepare for the chance
once again to flash my eyes – this time I choose violet –
for a sassy glance at the ophthalmologist, after the surgery
I’ve elected to undergo the feel of his vivacious spirit,
and to test once more, the long and the short of it.


I wish you all the abundance of enough. . .