You never really helped me, you know; I slipped from the birth canal damaged.
Beautiful irises hazel, flecks of blue and moss green, bilateral duds.
I thought everyone squinted, tripped and panicked at night;
I thought missing a ball thrown directly was just clumsy.
I loved you and you let me down.
You didn’t perform, protect,
keep me safe. I know
It isn’t your fault – blame it on genetics – I loved you and had to let go.
Oh, how I hated the pain of not seeing
Not feeling the freedom, the independence
It burned, led to doubt, to black holes of sorrow
Not even the rosary could save me.
Yet here I sit, still loving you, or
The ideal of you, lovely twins entwined,
Conjoined by a frayed optic thread, tiny malfunctioning cells taking up space in my head
Ocular persona non grata --
How I miss you.
— Ann Chiappetta