Poetry Thursday: Elder vision


My eyes
grow worse
as I
grow old

Betraying me at the sink
whose dirty dishes
somehow refuse
to get clean

Playing dangerous games
as I drive the freeway
at night

Stubbornly refusing
to shift between
the book in my hand
and anything beyond it

I can see half as well
as I could
half a lifetime ago

Maybe less

But what I cannot see clearly
is more than made up for
by what I can:
that we are only renting
that love is the answer
that everything can be seen
as a gift
or a lesson
or both
if you look at it
from the right angle

That this has come to others
before me
and will come to others still
when I am gone

These days
I see every moment
as one to be seized
and seizing
as whatever the moment calls for:
a hundred words, yes
and sometimes a thousand

But also
a two-mile walk
a cup of coffee
a nap
a hug
a bath
a pause

Even, sometimes,
a second pass
at the dishes

So lucky
to have dishes to clean

So lucky
to have time left to clean them


Image by chispita_666 via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.