Robbed of his vision at 26,
the medical jargon tore at his soul
as his new bride clung to their
baby bundle cloaked in pink.
The elaborate language simply stated
three short words -- never see again.
His vision was lost that day,
but not his pride. Retinitis Pigmentosa
took his sight, but not his life.
Raising his daughter, both pride and joy,
more strenuous than he thought.
While others conducted driving lessons,
or shot baskets after school,
he listened to her read books
or found a high place and watched sunsets
together. He sensed the warm light on his face
as she described the saffron, pumpkin, and
cotton candy colors descending into the mountain.
She protected him, clung to his arm in crowds.
Pointed out steps or a slippery spot on the floor.
Longed to travel on business trips with him,
but couldn't miss school.
She heard his magnificent tales.
Paella over rice in Madrid,
honking cars in Bangkok,
begets sprinkled with powdered sugar from Paris.
On plane trips she described the motley
of green earth 30,000 feet below.
The reds and greens of the Christmas tree,
glittering crystals of snow outside.
He smelled the sweetness of Beautiful on her
neck, gently caressed the curls on top of her head.
He feels a corner of her satin prom dress
as she explains the different shades
of deep blue. In his eyes, she saw
tears, knew he saw her true.