I Wish I Could See

I wish I could see without little plastic circles floating on my pupils. I wish I could see the clock radio. I wish I could see the book I’m reading in bed. I wish I could see the person I’m in bed with. I wish I could see the door, the bathroom mirror, the light switch, the faucet. I wish I could see the night sky, the morning sky, the foot of the bed, the floor, my pants in a heap on the floor, the glass of water on the nightstand, the pen & the notebook on the nightstand, the nightstand itself. I wish I could see, in the event of a fire, a national disaster, a natural disaster. I wish I could see the television that would broadcast these events, should they occur. (Are they as likely to occur as the media has us believe?)

I wish I could fall asleep and roll over onto the pillow without smushing my glasses into my face. I wish I could fall asleep and not think about how when I wake up my contacts will be dry and sticky as tacks in my eyes. I wish I could see, I wish I could see, I wish I could see things more than three inches away from my face. I wish I could open my eyes in the morning, and SEE.

I’m glad I can’t see. It’s the way I know I’m my father’s daughter and my grandfather (who I never met)’s granddaughter. It’s just that sometimes, I wish I could see.