May Sarton On Rinsing The Eye

May SartonMay Sarton  pen name  of Eleanore Marie Sarton (May 3, 1912 – July 16, 1995)

Between me and everything I see.
The glass is pain.
How to slide it away,
Unblur my vision?

“We must rinse the eye,”
My old friend, the poet,
Used to say.
But that was in Belgium
Many years ago.

Raymond is dead
And I am in exile,
Old and ill.

My eye turns inward
To rest on three poplars
And a lost garden.
The delphinium is very blue.
The columbine, purple and white,
Trembles in the breeze
And there are tall yellow daisies.

“We must rinse the eye,”
The poet reminds me
While his wife calls out
To the children to hurry.
The garden must be watered
Before dark,
And we run for the pails.

Nothing is blurred now,
Everything is quite clear
In the poignant evening light.
An explosion of memory
Has rinsed my eye.