This piece was part of the 5 March Write Thing.

Training My Eyes
By Jessica MacLeod

I’m training my eyes,
Or trying to, at least.
Training them not to
Pull on their leashes,
Nor bite, nor race,  
Nor tear through the moment
Claws scraping across floorboards
Or through a careful flowerbed.

I’m training my eyes to
Sit, to stay, to 
Rest and resist after too much
Racing, climbing, seeking, reaching.
To not snap and seize every
Word, detail, impression as a
Foothold or starting block 
Launching me out of here and now,
Propelling me to some imagined 
Future, surely easier, happier,
Better.

My eyes had honed the habits of prey, 
Panning the periphery,
Panting, fearing, alert, and whimpering
For storms miles away.

But my eyes are home, I tell them,
Safe by an evening fire,
Bellies full of fluid and fat. They can
Lie on a rug of colours and lines and words,
Allowed to chew on ideas longer, to
Pull some apart completely,
Mess though it be.

I’m training my eyes
To fetch pleasant,
To track birds across the sky,
To lap up deep blue from between
Bare branches of sprawling maple and
White puffs of gentle breath.
No tugging or darting, just
Patient watching, ideally with
Tongues and tails
Wagging.