How do you give your pure attention to anything in the world with the same amount of intensity each time, the same amount of care— even when there isn't some looming deadline or threat of expiration? In the case of a heart transplant, this can literally mean anywhere from a half- to two-hour window (extended by at least five minutes to make perfectly sure the donor has experienced a true cardiac death and won't suddenly seize up on the table). A transplant team will fly the donated organ, packed with static cold solution, to the waiting recipient. This is the moment in crime shows when the helicopter has barely touched down on the landing pad, but all the medics are sprinting as if in a relay race, passing the cooler marked with a big red cross to the next hand down the line. But back to attention, which in itself is really another expression of love— There are those who clearly are uncomfortable using such terms, perhaps for fear of being thought weak or uncool. Why else would they piss on the grave of a child who was among those killed in a school shooting just days before Christmas; why else choose to believe these deaths were a hoax? In the classics, tragedy is defined as reversal of fortune: a colossal failure or fall from grace that happens to a noble hero, who has much to lose in the first place and whose "only" flaw is his hubris or over- weening pride. Does this mean only the privileged somehow have the right to suffer and then be redeemed? A man trying to run away from his fate winds up killing his father, basically in an incident of road rage. Only near the end does he realize who it is and the terrible thing he's done— He takes the brooch of the woman he wed (she is really his mother), then gouges out his eyes. And now we have poetic justice. Who knows if their fates could have been averted had they all paid a little more attention to each other and to the world? A wise man walked among them, giving prophecies no one heeded because he was blind and had lived as a woman for seven years. Neither then nor now is there any way to do whole eye transplants, though it's possible to get a new cornea: the clear front part of the eye which helps focus the light so that you can see.
Poet Luisa A. Igloria (website) is the 2023 Immigrant Writing Series prize winner for Caulbearer: Poems (due out from Black Lawrence Press in 2024), and Co-Winner of the 2019 Crab Orchard Open Competition in Poetry for Maps for Migrants and Ghosts (Southern Illinois University Press, September 2020). She was appointed Poet Laureate of the Commonwealth of Virginia for 2020-22, and in 2021 received 1 of 23 Poet Laureate Fellowships from the Academy of American Poets and the Mellon Foundation. She is the winner of the 2015 Resurgence Prize (UK), the world’s first major award for ecopoetry, selected by former UK poet laureate Sir Andrew Motion, Alice Oswald, and Jo Shapcott. She is the author of What is Left of Wings, I Ask (2018 Center for the Book Arts Letterpress Chapbook Prize, selected by former US Poet Laureate Natasha Trethewey); Bright as Mirrors Left in the Grass (Kudzu House Press eChapbook selection for Spring 2015), Ode to the Heart Smaller than a Pencil Eraser (Utah State University Press, 2014 May Swenson Prize), Night Willow (Phoenicia Publishing, 2014), The Saints of Streets (University of Santo Tomas Publishing House, 2013), Juan Luna’s Revolver (2009 Ernest Sandeen Prize, University of Notre Dame Press), and nine other books. She is a member of the core faculty of the MFA Creative Writing Program at Old Dominion University which she directed from 2009-2015; she also teaches classes at The Muse Writers’ Center in Norfolk. In 2018, she was the inaugural Glasgow Distinguished Writer in Residence at Washington and Lee University. When she isn’t writing, reading, or teaching, she cooks with her family, knits, hand-binds books, and listens to tango music.