Second Sight

My father’s developing cataracts at 87.

The doctor gave him drops. Now he

swears he doesn’t need glasses. It’s a

second sight that people his age get.

It doesn’t last too long. I want to ask,

“What will you look at with your one

fresh eye?” If only seeing this way would

let him know me. At night, I dream of

something clear and potent to burn the

film I carry. Today, a scuffle between a

homeless man and a clerk at the drug-

store and I sit in my car thinking, “Is it

our wounds—like the one that grips

me now—that hold our lies open

till our weeping lets us see?