I was always losing them
being farsighted,
only needing them
to read street signs
bill boards and train times,
made it easy to lose them
in addition to the fact that
they weren’t always
on my face.

It was really bad
every time I broke them
surrendering them to gravity
watching the lense crack
like a winter pond
by a careless step
or standing up
to see what I just sat on
you would always give me that look
every time
as if I didn’t know
the number of times
I’ve failed to keep them.

I always thought your looks
were playful,
those loving
“oh, what are we gonna’ do with you?”

but then you had this air,
so different,
silently picking them up
catching me before the door
after I leave them
carelessly on our kitchen counter
every day
or that time I
forgot them on the plane
making you wait with me
all nine hours that it took
to retrieve them
but then realizing
they were somebody else’s
nowhere close to my prescription
you seemed to say less
every time I got a new pair.

Looking back
I wish I took better care
of such a trivial object
I wish that my simple product
of glass, metal, and plastic
did not speak so much about me,
perceiving me through a dark lense,
making putting up with me
something way beyond
a simple burden.

Maybe if I kept them closer to me
I could have seen it
maybe if I kept them closer to me
I didn’t have to squint
at that blur that was my own wariness
maybe if I kept them closer to me
I could have kept you closer too.