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A World Without Lenses

I stare out the window with no contacts
fuzzy lines of trees, the heavy expanse
of a clouded sky.
I cannot see anything
other than the structures of houses,
their white wooden siding
like ribs. There is a line of snow,
the skeleton
of a streetlight pole
with invisible wire.
I imagine the cold air, rough bark
of naked tree limbs.
In the distance there is a dark shape:
a car, small dog. I do not squint,
but see that blob as it is, shades
of brown in the beige of dead cornfields.
I press my nose to the window
warm breath, cool glass
and I take it all in,
eyes wide, unblinking.

This entry was posted in: Poetry


Marisa Donnelly, M.Ed., is a writer/editor, credentialed teacher, proud bonus mama, and CEO of Be A Light Collective, a coaching and content creation business and digital marketplace. She is the Director of Donnelly’s Daily Apple, a flexible learning/tutoring and educational resource platform, and the lead voice for Momish Moments and Step by Step Parents, verticals dedicated to sharing and advocating for non-traditional parenting journeys. Marisa currently resides in San Diego, California, with her fiancé, kiddo, and their two rambunctious Pitbulls. ❤️

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