Mary Mageau: GLARE

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I wash my hands, struggle into a shapeless cotton gown opened at the back then cover my hair with a floppy cloth shower cap. So many drops have left my left eye blurred and burning slightly. A needle in my arm follows and a deep sense of relaxation engulfs me. ‘You’ll be fine now,’ a nurse speaks comfortingly. I barely remember two young men guiding me onto a bed then wheeling me away through double doors into the glare of a large room, where I drift into a dreamless sleep . . .
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cataract operation —
the pale blossoms
bright yellow

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by Mary Mageau
Samford, Qld., Australia