ophtalmology

when I was thirteen I saw things more clearly
new glasses
images congealing
out of the blurry blackboard

to be sighted is a cruel thing
for a child
the cut glass of broken illusions

when I was fourteen my mother perished
oh, she remained alive
a deadwood zombie
going through the motions of everyday

when I was fifteen my father drowned himself
slowly
one casual drink at a time
and illicit sweethearts
in the kitchen cupboard

it was said most of us would develop cataracts
the color of agitated water
dashing itself off a cliff
eventually

if railwaylike braces
I could have spoken

if orthopedic shoes
I could have run

or a corset to stiffen my spine
I kept my glasses


watching the trainwreck unfold
stop-motion origami

 





Poetry by Katarina Wikholm
Read 209 times
Written on 2012-03-27 at 09:09

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This poem unfolds like a tragic origami swan coming undone, then folds back up again, and disappears.
2012-03-30