Advent at the Eye Clinic


ADVENT AT THE EYE CLINIC

Across the ocean in a land of heat & spices I wait alone here in the back underside of the world
for the eye doctor, and across from me
a blind baby on his back stares up                                        ..  not seeing lights in sparkling globes
twinkling down across his face.                                         Cheery Christmas lights are left alone,                               …….unseen and unsavored by his uncaught attention.

As round coffee eyes rove his black world
but no giggle bubbles out
to applaud the shimmering lights–
his unlit orbs in sockets
…..look only inward.
For him these, the darkest of days,
….are as dark all the rest.
He cannot see, nor think of
the things about us now:
Christmas lights, flying angels,
and visions of gifts.

But mama’s head stays bent over his unseeing face, and there she dwells—
but two in the room, in the city, the universe—

caressing him with her eyes, anointing his face with her proudness, washing him in her sacrificial love.
Her fierce dangerous love-
the catalyst and the cause for why
…….. …
he doesn’t need sight to see her.

And the love! electric, sparks and arcs in the span between us.
I shift to escape its arm, and its reach,
and work to close the gaping hole
in my swaddled religiosity, which holds no warmth, suddenly pierced: It’s all failure.

The road to the clinic was long but I hope the best for my eyes
….What kind of life is this?
Someone smart once said that
….Desolation precedes Consolation.
…………..Anyway, I’m threadbare.

Then I recall it’s Advent: the time when the Father of All to release His loving Expression
for His blind babies to see–
Streaming through cracks to staunch the wailing loneliness ….surges His fierce loyal triumph and makes one pointed exclamation
….which burns hotter than the tropical sun at noon.
..My condition has no force nor strength,
and distance makes no matter:
Both Catalyst and Cause, I can sense Him without sight, wine through my veins
This old, cold and blind babe’s
fresh-captivated in the warming draw of His streaming gaze.


 

~ A Charity Johnson, 2016