By Molly Braedon McConnell, special to Charleston Currents
sometimes i take off my glasses throw away the contact lenses in my cabinet and i blur my eyes on purpose cross them play double-dutch with my pupils the lack of focus makes things better i can’t explain it how those little moments in between it all make everything soft like living room drapes in old movies or fog hanging low enough to comb your hand straight through or twine smaller than your fingernail everything undoes itself frays, in a sense in a good way, though sharp edges are paper-smooth on the skin fences don’t come to points at the top instead they just keep growing up and up and up out into periphery
sometimes i despise my glasses my shortcomings perched at the bridge of my nose bent by glass small enough to crack in my palm but sometimes i can’t help but long for it that perfect twenty i’d imagine i’d lay down no glasses to take off no contact lenses to trash and i’d find my eyes stuck together locked in this perpetual clear suddenly everyone becomes a flashlight stars now headlights in oncoming traffic my fingerprints, microscopic highways and everything starts to tangle up in itself everything becomes an afterimage a seeing eye poster you know exactly what you’re looking at but you know you’re not Seeing
Molly Braedon McConnell is a senior attending Charleston County School of the Arts as a creative writing major. They won first prize in the Martin Luther King Jr. Speak-Out Poetry Slam and have been recognized both regionally and nationally by the Scholastic Art & Writing Awards. Their debut collection of creative non-fiction and poetry, Portrait of the Fowl, released earlier this spring.
(Thanks to poetry editor Marjory Wentworth for sending along Molly’s poem.)
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