Everything went back to normal:Grandma dead again, meeyeing the farmer’s sons,trying to pull off my glovesas roughly as they did theirs.Mom no longer lamentedthe eye surgery’s failure,the victory of astigmatism.The night’s averse strippedaway the bridal snow.I looked out the window at therubbery blacktopand thought of the war betweenmy grandmother’s faithand her devotion to me.I thought of my mother’s sacrifices,including her voice, neglectedfor years. At Christmas,sitting next to me on the pianobench, she looked throughbifocals and read sheetmusic, silently relieved.She felt naked, without somuch as a swaddling cloth,the few days she seemedto have outgrown her glasses.We both started to feelthe rapport and rivalrybetween eyes and lenses,faith and devotion, aversionand flood.
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About the writer
Timothy Robbins. Timothy Robbins has been teaching ESL and loving it for 27 years. He has been a regular contributor to Hanging Loose since 1978. His collection Denny’s Arbor Vitae was published by Adelaide Books in 2017. Another collection, Carrying Bodies, will be published by Main Street Rag Press in 2018. Timothy lives with his husband (a brilliant mathematician) of twenty years in Kenosha, Wisconsin.
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