--
eyes
I want to unlearn the color of her eyes
and the times we sat at dinner tables,
mouths unmoving, plates untouched,
devouring each other in the silence of an unspoken language
our chosen dialect was not blinking,
lest we lose too many half-seconds to the fading impossibility
of not knowing we were there
her eyes were a lighthouse
and these days I try to hold a candle steady in the dark
so I might retrace the fine edges of her jawline
from muscle memory and soft tissue damage
I wonder if she still thinks of me
half as many times as I think about her irises
lost, half-swirling semi-circles
reaching for a hand to hold in the pitch-black nothing of her pupils
I wish I had told you when our tongues were still strangers
that your eyes had already become my default color palette
when I repainted Monet’s Waterloo
in the hopes that we might cross that bridge together
these nights I fall asleep to the slow burn memory of her eyes closing,
too tired now to love a little longer
too quiet to tell me she was leaving soon
but I still try to keep mine shut
long enough to forgive every lash on hers
I still wait for every day’s golden hour to remind myself
that she bound our book in copper wire
and told me to try and love the bookmarks
where she kept her apprehension tucked between the pages
like pressed tulip petals looking for a way out
close your eyes and count backwards from 56
is this the place you envisioned for us?
or were you always sleeping with one eye open
long enough to see that I was getting too close
to rewriting our definition of loving with the lights on
there was a version of me when I was with you
that didn’t need to hide
but every turned calendar page
reminds me that she stopped playing seek
when I stopped waiting to be found
your eyes taught me to see beyond myself
and into the nocturne rhythm of us beholden to no one
but there are times when my nightly salt water ritual
is not enough to wash away the way your eyes bathed me
and made me know I was here too
I’m trying to find a new route home
one that isn’t almond-shaped and hazel at dawn
and in the blurry half-existence of my eyes regaining focus,
I hope you know how long I would have kept my eyes locked to yours
how quickly I swallowed the key
how often I wish I could still feel you watching me
on days when I want to keep mine shut and forget
every shade that colored yours
my eyes don’t see much these days
besides the next handful of minutes I spend
remembering the way you blinked back love one too many times
but I hope one day I see why you looked away,
and I hope in that breathless clarity that
I might untangle myself from the bramble of your eyelashes
long enough to find a way back to myself
Enjoy the Poetry of j e n e v i e v e
~ And Poetry After Dark
