Lorena MCcollister
| Against Sight
I
Sitting in the dark, her sight dims; night vision gone to a color draining disease.
Ophthalmological neurologists predict blindness in five, ten, fifteen years?
Going to bed, a challenge, with the man who likes darkness; he is ever careful to leave things where she will not trip or falter— she forgets to put away the step stool.
He hears slight footsteps; she stumbles over her own shoes, shins the step-stool, stammers at the hallway light, misses it twice, almost squishes the dog, ruffles the cat, and giggles into bed.
Her night light shimmers— rotates through primary colors not yet turned grey.
II
O’ Sight! Why are you so great?
Insight, hindsight, eyesight . . .
Insight penetrates things not seen. How do you see in something, anyway?
Hindsight looks backwards. Use a mirror to look behind you?
Eyesight sees everything in diaphanous degrees of light. How will you remember what color looks like?
III
Cedar Key color:
“Remember tasting honey with your mouth closed, touching it with your eyes open?”
He tries to synthesize color memories.
How long before greens turn black and grey?
She walks onto the porch of the ocean-side condo they share . . .
How long will it take for sound to be more extraordinary than color? |