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Blindness, Close |
I am almost blind now. Everything has been reduced to some vague shadows out there, impressions of light and dark, an occasional shape, something I can almost guess at. I make the marks by habit, from a memory that's only semi-automatic now, my hand moves to make the strings of symbols that are meant to represent my utterance. I write not knowing if this will reach you, or if you will be able to make it out if it does. I could have someone read it back to me, voicing the marks, I am almost blind, is that how it started, is that what I really said or what I really meant to say, the doubt, even if it were, even did it get to you without my seeing, even if you responded
I notice things. I move my arm and my shoulder pops loudly inside of me, pops so hard it moves, it doesn't hurt and there's nothing wrong except that now I think about the feeling I would have preparing for the pop were it all to happen in reverse, the trepidation even while knowing nothing's wrong, the air puff from the glaucoma machine, the dread, the feeling of it, in the coming dark I feel it, the fear
I think it's best that you don't respond, better, all things considered, you writing or coming to my room, hi it's me, I wouldn't trust it, I'm going blind
I picture a duck blind, I remember, hiding the meaning, duck blind, poor duck, he's blind or I'm hiding, he can't see me, either way. I feel the dread, I know the pop is coming, loud and so hard it moves my shotgun shoulder, there's nothing wrong but the trepidation, the waiting, waiting
What could you say, you couldn't duck going blind, poor blind duck duck blind, it's better you don't respond, best, I can't see you either way. Now I make the marks without dreading if they will be read, if they can be read, almost blind now, I am, semi-automatic now, my hand moves, I am
copyright 2006
Greggory
Moore |
