Far

When I got my cataracts removed
the eye surgeon asked, "how far?
How far do you want to see
without those ugly glasses?"

I don't know. Truly, I've never
not worn glasses, never focused
beyond pages of books I read.
So then, I ask, "how far is far?"

Far is a subjective thing.
Hard to define, hard to see.
To some, far might be miles.
To me, it's inches from my face.

I held out my arm, my fingers
touching a phantom computer.
She measured and calculated;
Said, yes, we can do that.

My monitor is sharper, crisper—
spreadsheets not fuzzy anymore.
I dance through Photoshop,
distinguishing the colors.

But as I recovered, I learned
fixing one thing broke another.
I still wear my ugly glasses
to read highway signs.

I need new close-up glasses
to see within the inches
that once defined "readable."
Now just as blurred as "far."