When, without my old-man Varilux® glasses,
I jot, with my point five millimeter Pentel® pencil
On my two by two inch pink Post-it® note pad,
A nighttime message to my morning self,
What happens is just like invisible writing:
I know something’s there, but I cannot see it.
No need to scorch it with a candle to read it;
Tomorrow I will don my magical spectacles,
And the words that disappeared in the writing
Will miraculously reappear in the reading
Like a reached-for memory snapping into focus.
Would that I had such handy brain spectacles
Instead of the flickering candle that guides me
As I stumble through the darkened ravines of my brain
Where I know in the shadows lurking, though invisible,
Lies the memory I seek, hoping it will be there,
Like a Kleenex®, even a used one, tucked into my pocket
When I am walking in the forest
And the nose my glasses sit on is running.