Monocled, We Yearn to See
Laura King

Once I swam perpendicular to the shore
until my feet numbed dull and hypothermia
hugged my brain and all was black and pure light
as if seeing through a monocle,
until the sea waved me to its shore.

Why speak of grace anymore, at home in my bones.

Once I knew a man on the streets of the city
and every day I searched for him with a tin
of eggs and small potatoes.
Like seeing partially through one eye,
a hint of heaven.

There are those of us who will never awake
even if we open our eyes.
Everything I missed when I was sick; the people pained,
shame squeezing me like a wetsuit.

And that is enough
to thank you for beaching me among your people,
your drowning-sorrowed-belovèd-not-yet-dead.

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