Spectacles

My glasses are a curse, a shadow, an adventure, a gift.

With them I can see you in sharp focus as you whisper behind your hand
Friends turn away; distaste etched into their foreheads.

With them I can see the starkness of her pinched face and shadows under her eyes
Rows of scars slash her wrists, the armour she carved lying along her arms.

With them I can see the crisp words traversing the leaves of musty books
A mode of transport to forgotten places and distant shores.

With them I can see vibrant streaks of crimson and amber painted onto the sky
Silhouettes clearly outlined against the setting summer sun.

My glasses are a gift, an adventure, a shadow, a curse.