he asked his sister . . . his
hero his three-time cancer survivor -- if you think youre tough ponder the sheer physical emotional
psychic existential place cancer leaves you -- then you can tell him how tough you are
he had a good friend Frank from Chicagos
South Side who was diagnosed with Stage III lung cancer
Frank put a revolver in his mouth
he and his mother were the only
white people to attend Franks wake and funeral
how tough are you?
he asked his sister if she
noticed the change in the colour of the light during the day
it seemed burnt to him like sugarwater scalded heated
too fast a soft scarce amber colour
he mentioned it to his girlfriend
too
they hadnt noticed
during impromptu conversations he
also asked repeatedly
so far no one else admitted they
saw it
he mentioned it in a letter to
his three-year-old granddaughter that he thought some cowardly thing snuck into
his house at night while he was asleep and stole his old eyes and replaced them
with the two he was seeing through now
his watch-cats Inside indie and
Outside bigfoot had failed him they
werent on their game
they let a thief into the house
he might have to reassess their
watch-catness or . or . . or . . . they were in collusion(was he paranoid)
their eyes saw in the dark
so he considered why shouldnt he
why shouldnt he accept some kind of
upgrade too
his eyes were definitely seeing
differently than before
maybe he hadnt acclimated to the
time change maybe
but even today
down by the
mailbox on the street when he placed inside it outgoing mail he was astonished
by an elongated pitch-black bag on the side of the road
it wasnt until he stood nearly
upon it that he recognised it was a street signs shadow though the pole it
stood on cast no shadow at all
early that morning looking up
from his coffee cup hed taken out of doors a huge white bird streaked overhead
he was bewildered
it was bigger than a turkey
vulture
he couldnt make it out
maybe an eagle an albino
rubbing his eyes he looked again at
where it angled
it was gone
seemingly evaporated into the sharp silverblue aether the
high meringue clouds
maybe it took his mind with it
walking back from the mailbox the
black wrap of the asphalt driveway leading up to his house on a hill twitched
it quivered underfoot
was he imagining that it too was
different?
1405, Day-between-Two-Ts, 16 11.
16
