Close Focus

Lately, my eyes have been focusing differently.

Whenever anything is near my eyes,
ie a book or phone screen,
my eyes will innately focus
on that one thing
while everything beyond
what I'm focusing on blurs.

It's like focusing in portrait mode,
the background becomes fuzzy
while the words I'm reading
become better than crystal clear.

This way of focusing is a shock to the system.

It took me some time to realize
what was happening.

When something with my vision changes,
there are moments where I'm trying to decide
if what I'm seeing is actually there,
if my sight is true to my reality
or if what I'm seeing is an interpretation
stemming from my brain not being able to process
where my eyes are within the space I'm in.

Mind games with the eyes seem to be never ending
as things continue to shift each day.

Saturday Drive

I go on a drive looking for my old self.
I listen to old music and sing along. Dixie Chicks and Bob Dylan,
Songs from my childhood that have bled into my young adult years.
The leaves have barely changed
As the season of summer is about to leave for the year.
Saturday, 79 degrees, and endless blue skies
Guide my way as I drive a route
I once swore I'd never return to.
Too many loops, too scary, too many unknowns.
This is my second time on this road this month
I got lost the first time and made the experience less than thrilling,
Trying to navigate a road by memory without second guessing
Myself takes serious concentration.
Now, I'm going back and forth up a hill,
Reminding myself that this is where I first felt car sickness.
I didn't find my old self, she's no longer around.
Instead, I was reminded of how much I've grown
Since I've been on this road and how much
I'm still scared of the great unknown.

One Year with Abnormally Puffy Eyes

I was in a McDonald’s bathroom somewhere in Iowa.
I was exhausted from a weekend full of family time and walking
around the Minnesota State Fair.
My dad and I had left a few hours before dawn and began the long drive back home.
As soon as we got on the road, I instantly fell back asleep,
holding the old stuffed animal dog I got as a Christmas gift when I was 8.
We had stopped at McDonald’s to get breakfast and pee.
I was washing my hands when I noticed how glaringly puffy my eyes were.
What is going on?
I thought as I poked the puffy skin around my eyes, taking in this unfamiliar sight.
I walked away from the mirror to leave,
only to return seconds later to stare at this unusual occurrence once more.
I chalked it up to not enough sleep and too much driving and walking
within a short period of time (something I’m not known to do).
This conclusion reassured me enough to leave the restroom without panicking.
I can’t remember if I asked my dad if he noticed anything different.
If I did, he probably just told me the same thing I told myself: it’s nothing.
We got back in the car and continued our long journey home.
As we were merging back onto the highway, I checked my puffy eyes
once again through the camera app on my phone.
In natural light, they were still puffy.
It’s fine. It’s fine. I just need more sleep.
Oh, the stories we tell ourselves in the moment so we don’t obsessively wonder
what bad things could be happening.

I Don’t Remember Your Name But I Do Remember Where You Live

If you take to me some place new, 
then tell me to find my way back
without using a map or phone,
I can do it.

I could not be paying attention,
distracted by the screen in my hand
or the music I'm listening to,
and I'd still be able to find the street
I've only been on once before.

I can go to places I don't go to often,
the desert of my childhood,
the busy city that never sleeps,
the quiet down by coast
where my mother was born
and instantly know where I'm heading.

I can hear your name five times
and recognize your face
before I remember your name.

I could be paying close attention,
listening to what you're saying,
nodding with every detail,
and walk away remembering your story
with no idea of what your name is.

If you tell me your name,
I will forget it five seconds
after I hear it.

II

There’s a split in my reality 
every morning and night. 
When what I see doubles 
into this hallucination like state, 
my brain is confused. My eyes 
don’t work together for longer than 
twelve hours a day. Individually,
they’re fine. Left is down 
and right is up. If I cover one, 
my vision is single and up 
or single and down. 
Whatever I’m looking at 
will move to a different space 
without me moving my head. 
I try my best to fight it until 
my eyes are no longer cooperating 
and I’m forced to go to bed.

The Purple Tulip

The purple tulip arrived a week ago
and will not leave. I glare at it through
a mirror reflection, trying to comprehend
how it might have appeared at this time
eight days ago. No one warned me
I would receive a tulip. Everyone I ask
doesn't seem to have an answer on
where it came from or why it's here.
The bright purple faded a bit within
a few hours of appearing. The purple
stem now has some red in it. It's too soon
to say what this plant is or if it means
anything at all.