Lexapro

It was the same when I learned I needed glasses.

Not in the darkness of the optometrist’s exam room,

where he made the letters blur and unblur at will,

but after.

When the glasses were made.

I settled them on the bridge of my nose,

adjusting to their metallic strangeness,

and looked, not to the compact mirror,

but the window.

At the trees, sketching bows to the storm-strong winds outside.

I saw them, as I never had,

and I could have wept.

For I could see each leaf,

distinct from their brothers,

declaring their own identity.

I asked my mother-

do you see the leaves?

Have you always?

It can be like this?

Yes, she said, laughing in the way they call bemused.

When my brain chemicals adjusted,

when I trusted my counselor enough to speak freely,

I had the same question-

it can be like this?