(for Curtis… and my mother)

It goes back to the college boyfriend
with the vision impairment who taught
me to always cap the toothpaste,
never to leave a clear glass in the sink,
and always tuck sharp knives into
the mini butcher block on the countertop
where they were less likely to do either
of us injury.

We used to joke that the mostly blind guy
could chop vegetables better and faster
than the nearsighted girl, whose fingers
bore telltale evidence of accidental
self-stabbings. No wonder the Girl
Scout leader gently removed that girl’s
whittling knife from her blood-spotted
hands—and didn’t give it back for years.

But the blind boyfriend had a sixth sense
for where things lay in space—the guy who
whipped down the bike trail on two fast
wheels—possessing a kind of radar that I
don’t and I so wish my mother did as
her sight dims.

He and I in those heady, early days of love
walked the fridge and cupboards after
trips to the store, making sure that he could
find things—which he did, often more easily
than I.

Now, almost a half century later, Mom
stands before her open fridge, blinded
by the light as she tries to discern honey
mustard from shapely bottles of electrolytes.
I walk the fridge with her, the two of us standing
there letting the cold out (which could get
you yelled at as a kid), as I point out three
containers of egg salad and one of tuna along
with the new salami and cheese packages
atop the cheese sticks of Colby jack.

Mom runs her hands over the just-brought-home
lunch leftovers in their traveling container,
as well as the circumference of the receptable
that shelters her special fruit—blueberries,
strawberries, bananas—that her favorite
restaurant assembles for her. She traces
outlines of small water bottles that sidle
up to Moscato chilling in thick glass.

And, when she’s committed to memory
the locations of the to-be-consumed,
she edges away from the chill and says,
That’s good. I’ve got it.

And I marvel again at the ability of these
beloveds who channel shapes into
visual memory, those who can’t see
the details of my face but who swear
they’d know me anywhere.

And I believe them.