Cataract
Hours of your eye being wetly numbed
with other eyes in the waiting room.
Then you’re on the operating table,
knees raised over a bolster, hand held.
Keep still as you’re wheeled under curtains.
Eyelid pinned. Look up at the bright lights
moving in and out of focus. It’s a skull:
two eyes and an open mouth gaping at you.
Keep your chin down. Don’t move.
Electric saw approaching, buzzing.
Pressure but no pain as the white lights turn red.
It must be blood. Eye hosed down with water.
A push as the new lens slides in.
Liquid cascades down the cheek.
It’s a waterfall, a cataract, you’re riding the rapids.
And then you’re not, as a plastic shield
descends over the eye, and you’re becalmed.
Image: Daniele Idini
