Bifocals

I close my eyes behind the bifocals,

To hear better without being distracted twice—

A single voice without accompaniments,

The single path before it diverges.

I must have heard the echo of a distant thud

In mom’s womb in turbulent times,

Between the end of the World War II

And the beginning of the Korean War.

Here I am tracing words on a blank page,

On the back of a spent one,

Wearing bifocals, searching for meaning,

Warm beside the wood stove.

I open my eyes–

Morning has begun,

Yet the words written in a morning dream

Are nowhere to be found.

I breathe into the poem,

Shift my new bifocals–

A fresh canvas of sky sharpens into view,

Forewarning a world unraveling.