By Pam Eastlick (adult)
Mangilao, Guam

I HAVE LATELY DISCOVERED THAT I AM BLIND

The Sun has robbed me of vision.
I can see my lover and my grandchildren and the cats
But I cannot see the heat rise from their bodies.
I can see my dinner in the microwave
But I cannot see the microwaves that cooked it.
I can listen to the radio
But I cannot see the radio waves that make the sound.
I can see the rainbow
But I have lately discovered that I can see only a small part of its glory.
The Sun has made me blind.

My eyes are Sun-eyes.
Honed by evolution's fine scalpel over the eons
They see only what the Sun gives most.
400 to 700 nanometers
Of the waves whose peaks are so close together, they are solid
Of the waves whose peaks are a solar system apart
I See Nothing.

Be My Eyes
Show me the tree heat so I may see who is sick and dying.
Let me gaze long at algae blooms so I may know who makes my oxygen.
Show me ancient cities long forgotten.
Show me my bones.

Then Turn Outward.
Show me the belching burps of a baby star
Let me marvel at the beating of a galaxy's heart.
Show me the screaming maw of a black hole
Show me the wispy remnants of stellar death.
SHOW ME LIFE.

Show me my future among the stars.