Floating
Happy Birthday, Dinah!
A fragment of lace loiters on my internal screen. A smudge flitters, skitters across on a diagonal, while little hairs billow across my field of vision. “Just floaters,” the eye doctor says, after dilating my pupils with drops that sting, "an inevitable consequence of aging." My ever-clever friend Dinah named her most imposing floater “The Eye of Horus.” It's her amulet of protection, an organic microchip enabling her to age with grace.
They are the worst, aren’t they? It has taken me a year to clear out one eye.