"I think I am the only one on the planet who asked Santa for a pair of bluer eyes and longer legs and actually got them.”
— K. E. Hansen
“Are my eyes straight?”
you ask, turning to look
at me, trusting
and expectant.
In the sunlight, I can see the fine blonde hair
on the side of your face, the deep v-indent
in the center of your upper lip,
the long lashes, curled and darkened,
lining your blue
eyes. Without boundaries
of eye contact,
I look into your face
as into no other.
“I think your left
is upside down.”
When I met you I did not know,
as others don’t,
your eyes are glass,
hand-painted striations so delicate and beautiful,
their surface reflects light
like a blue dawn.
Turning to slip
your eye out, you chuckle.
“I was just thinking about that time
with the study group.”
You were prepping for a final
when another student in the group
made you laugh,
hard.
No warning,
your right eye flew
out of its socket
to
you-had-no-idea-where.
You heard a few chokes,
then silence.
Seeing straight
a lens you keep always
in your sight,
you asked, "Has anyone happened
to run across
my eye?"
