Poem of the month - April 2005

Corneal Graft

For all the eye specialists I've seen - in varying degrees of haziness - over the years, and for the anonymous donor who gifted me his/her vision, in something like the way succeeding generations of writers do.

Text transcript of poem

My vision's been where I haven't. I'm but a go-between.
When my cornea frosted over, I saw an optician (blurred).
A part of me has seen things I have never seen.

My eye lost its glistering green, took on a foggy sheen
Like that of a dreamish moonbeam, oceanly stirred.
My vision's been where I haven't. I'm but a go-between.

That whiteness eclipsed my eye when I was thirteen.
Words on pages slurred; even girls turned smudgy, wayward.
A part of me has seen things I have never seen.

Kerataconus, intoned the specialists. The word seemed
Vague as the world around me. Faces looked the same. Absurd.
My vision's been where I haven't. I'm but a go-between.

If the cornea's a tiny jellyfish in the gene
Pool blind fate stirs believe it bad luck also occurs.
A part of me has seen things I have never seen.

The doctors grafted while I was drugged and dreamed
- I still do - of the life-before-me my cornea's conferred.
My eye is like a mind's eye. I'm but a go-between.
A part of me has seen things I have never seen.

By Kevin MacNeil