Hindsight

This poem is about my ex-husband cleaning my glasses. 

You used to clean my glasses,

You would roll your eyes,

Up to the sky,

In mock horror.

 

Then take them from my face,

And rub them,

With your handkerchief,

Breath warm air,

Onto both lenses,

Polish

And check,

By holding them up to the light.

Before returning them,

With a smile.

 

That single act,

Convinced me,

That you loved me,

With,

A love that would live beyond,

Passion.

 

But when the passion faded,

You put your handkerchief away,

And moved on.

 

These days

There is no-one to clean,

My glasses,

 

Yet,

I can see more clearly now.

copyright@dellareynolds2017