SIDE EFFECTS

            for Dr. Shilpi Pradhan

The surgeon stands next to me
with diagrams of eyes to explain
cataract surgery. She recites all
possible things that could go wrong,
lists the rare disasters. These have
never happened to her, she says.
Knock wood. 

I couldn’t repeat the specifics,
felt too rattled to enter these facts
into long-term memory, wished
I’d brought a friend to take notes.
I have confidence in her; she does these
every Tuesday, knows what she’s doing.
She warns me

of one possible side effect. You’ll see
wrinkles you didn’t know you had.
Not from my surgery. Don’t blame me.
It’s good year for medical procedures,
not Eighteenth Century. No one
will haul out dirty knives, bleeding cups,
or leeches.

Friends tell me the surgery is quick,
uncomplicated, I won’t need glasses
or contacts. All colors will be deeper,
especially blues and greens. Isn’t it
a spiritual experience to have your vision
cleared, the blurry fog finally lifted?

IMAGINING FARM LIFE

When the din and grit of city life
grind you down,
you think of trees, a narrow creek
that roars after rain,
blond fields of corn and grain
with mountains
blue-gray in the distance.
You remember those two weeks
in Connecticut,
the fragrance of hay and cows,
the way to call
the goats up to their milking stands.
You were a kid
collecting eggs, no thought of all
the tasks that kept
the chickens safe and healthy.
It seemed like bliss—
life without the stressful city,
allowed to have
cats, three dogs, a cow you named.
No one to tell you
what to do. And no one would
speak the truth 
of fifteen-hour work days, broken
fences, endless
sweaty labor necessary. No time
to be sick or sleepy.
It seems a dream: the smiling farmer
with his cows,
his wife canning peaches and tomatoes.
Bread dough rising,
pies cooling on the windowsill.
A life that seems
so lovely, simple, pure. Summertime
and the living is easy.
In the dark, you buy the farm
with your IRA.

Joan Mazza has worked as a medical microbiologist, psychotherapist, and seminar leader. She is the author of six self-help psychology books, including Dreaming Your Real Self (Penguin/ Putnam), and her poetry has appeared in Atlanta Review, The Comstock Review, The MacGuffin, Prairie Schooner, North Dakota Quarterly, Poet Lore, Slant, and The Nation. She lives in rural central Virginia.