Thursday, June 26, 2008

Seeing Straight ~1995

"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 
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,

No warning,
your right eye flew
out of its socket

You heard a few chokes,
then silence.

Seeing straight
to humor, 
a lens you keep always 
in your sight,
you asked, "Has anyone happened
to run across
my eye?"