Treasure Island

Dónall Dempsey

(15/07/56 / Curragh Camp, Co. Kildare, Eire.)

YOUR GLASSES


You always
holding in conversation
the lens of your glasses
between thumb & index

leaving a whirlpool
of fingerprints
trapped upon
the glass

your glasses
where you left them
gathering dust
I try them on
(now you’ve gone)

I squint
through a thumbprint
trying to see
as you saw

the strength
of your vision
hurting me
your glasses
too dirty

for sight
your death
nothing but a blur
of words & tears
I...I...
can’t…see through.

Submitted: Friday, September 21, 2007
Edited: Monday, April 11, 2011
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  • Dee Dee Wright (9/24/2007 11:49:00 AM)

    Gulp...I'll go now! I always start reading you and then a poem like this will stop me in my tracks and I can't go on! I was reading your beautiful TELLING HIM JENNY poem and then I came to this and I thought is this still about Johnny? It's so sad and there is nothing but a blur of words and tears that I can't...see through!
    What I love about your poems is that they make me care about people I don't even know or can't know now and you make me care so much about them as if I too had loved them...so that when I get to a poem like this...it really hurts me. Your poems make me love and hurt the way you do but your poems are braver than I feel...sometimes. I can't get Johnny out of my mind reciting silently that poem and then to see his death from this angle through the ordinary discarded glasses is just much too much. I go to weep for someone you have made me care about. This is so real a moment in which the whole world shrinks to this one happening.
    Dee Dee (Report) Reply

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