trichiasis

my son has an ingrown eyelash in his right eye. trichiasis, they call it. i sit beside him, urging him to stay still, as i fold the offending lashes with a moist q-tip, and then press a towel with ice on his swollen eye. i have considered pulling the lashes out, but the mere sight of sharp tweezer edges sends him in a panic, so i have opted for this quieter, gentler method. it is actually the way i would prefer, even though it requires more time and patience on both our parts.

meanwhile, the sky has been unstable, occasionally hooding us like a sweater, trapping the moisture until we gasp the thick air, and occasionally, with a strange mix of fright and relief, breaking open with grumbling cracks and letting fall the rain of reluctant but inevitable rage. under this background, i drift through the uneventful events of my life, emptying myself in my duties, holding secret plots for better tomorrows. on occasion, a lightning strike will pierce even my closed eyelids, and, like a strobe light or the flash of a camera, cut this moment out of time. something, i suspect, is trying to irritate a reaction in me. in the grumble and window-shaking thunder, it seeks to disturb.

but i keep my eyes closed, nose to the grindstone. i, after all, have opted for a quieter, gentler method. even though it requires time. and patience.