Your Glasses Poem by Dónall Dempsey

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.