rubber-coated metal bullet struck Ziad’s eye during clashes in
Bethlehem. . . . His eyeball fell in the palm of his hand and his friends
say he kept holding it till he reached the hospital. He thought they
could put it back in.
What do you see that you didn’t?
What do you make of a sphere of jelly with fins of torn muscle?
What do your fingers impress on the rind?
Do you rush it to hospital, where a surgeon waits to fuse sight to vision?
Does the eye have a nationality? a history?
Does the eye have a user name?
Its own rubber bullet?
Where is the eye transcribed?
A little globe there and you are the keeper
Of the watery anteroom, of the drink of clear glass
Once it lay snug in fat in its orbit
Once it saw as a child
Through humor a peppering of stars