Sagacious Lens
by Odin Roark

Frame one
from child to adult…

Wheaties monocular from high above green grass,
gazing down at Rusty, my cocker spaniel,
floppy-eared bound,
shiny,
sad eyes,
prophetic.

Such is a sick child’s blurry lens.

Window of oxygen tent
distorts mother’s pleading face,
tired, worn, grasping for hope.

Crisis passed,
Young adulthood close-up.

Father’s hand grasping mine,
tears running down smudged familiar motor oil cheeks
unmistakable transmission fluid smells,
a father’s ever present identity
bidding me good luck
as rear view mirror fades.

Suddenly…

Is this this the 25mm view of normalcy?

Holland Tunnel,
New York City,
here and now,
touching it.

Success,
my kind,
not the professor’s kind,
not like the onion skin professed.

Hollywood but waits,
for too much now,
too much perfect,
something wrong.

I have to look ahead,
way up there,
no,
yes,
that’s me,
crank the focus up.
Yeah, that’s…
not me. Is it?

500 mm looking beyond.

Watch out with your 25 mm normal,
it may not be true .
Be conscious of the 500mm pull it back,
look through it once in a while.

no.

Often.

You’ll maybe find like me,
a peek,
a hint,
and like me,
it might take a lot of peeking.

Mmm.

Maybe first frame is last frame.
Maybe all frames
form one omniscient lens
knowing no boundaries.

Only, I know time.
I’ve learned boundaries.
That focal length beyond… beyond.

Who really knows?

Child to adult…
end in sight?

Questionable.