Even from Altar – Niles Baldwin

December 16, 2025

Even from altar. Excuse me, even from afar. Even from afar there can be things worth being seen. Things we wouldn’t see from close enough we weren’t afar. There are lines we cross and each of our sights draw them differently. My vision gives me headaches, but I can see through camouflage. My friend takes off her glasses and the big cats start to conspire behind the brush.

I take my eye exam I was told to take before my other eye exam. My results go in the fax machine. They tell me I could use help seeing small words if I’m going to throw a tantrum if I can’t read them. The glasses they give hang off my ears, they hang off my nose, the story goes and goes, and I’ve already skipped ahead to acknowledgments. They used the big font for dedication. I saw it clearly at the beginning of the book.

It’s nothing like a cough when I clear my throat after I say the wrong thing. I use my inner elbow when I am sick. I learned to use tissues after I had already been sick hundreds of times. Nose wet over my lips and so, into my mouth. Now, sometimes I say I’m sick, I empty the tissue box, I make a show of unwrapping cough drops, but I’ve said the wrong thing.

Being heard wrong or saying the wrong thing could both be opportunities to take in information some other way than the way we always do. I’ve looked up how to get the wax from my ears enough times that the next time I promised myself I’d retain it.

The matches I strike to light the candles on my desk get dipped in water before they are thrown in the trash. That, or I toss them in the toilet, if I’m already there for being sick. I flipped the switch on the lamp closest to my bed less than a dozen times before I started swearing and then laughed because I was swearing because there was nothing screwed in where the light bulb should be.

I count the candles it takes until I can read the pages of my book. It takes all the ones I put in the drawer for if the power ever goes out. I turn off the heat to save on oil. I take all the blankets in the house and throw them on my bed. I can feel how cold my nose will be when I wake up.

The candles tell time, but I don’t know how. Not in the same way I keep it. They are far enough from my bed that I know they are there and worth it to be able to see. I should put something underneath the flames, worship it from afar. When their light dims, I will put on glasses. When my nose is numb, I brace myself to catch cold. I’ll trust my muscle memory when I use tissues to clear me up.

There are scratches at my windows. I hear them as cats, but it could maybe be storm. You can feel how the wind forces its way over the roof in your ears. There’s nowhere else to go or be than here.