aging in the year of dying

Pictured Poem created by Tremaine L. Loadholt

aging in the year of dying

the dog is going blind
to her, as I fade into the
darkness of our hallway, I’m
a blot–an image she isn’t
sure is me

she’s smart–she waits
in the living room where light
lingers and only moves
when she sees me re-emerge
from the belly of
our home

I step back into her view
with a smile on my face
and greet her as If I
haven’t seen her before

I know what it feels like
to see something clearly
again

seeing clearly again

Everything I need to take care of my scleral contact lenses. My new glasses are en route. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt

scleral contacts
reshaping my eyes so far
I can see clearly

everything I need
for these expensive lenses
is right before you

costing me an arm
and a leg for the best sight
I am filled with joy