• feministconfessional 23w

    Your Eyes

    You came in the back
    And stood in the doorway
    Rounded frame cloaked in pink
    Late-middle aged
    Well heeled nobly postured
    Curls lustrous bronze grey
    Movie-star set yet
    Tousled with insouciance
    Run through by nervous fingers
    Though I know not why
    Your eyes like ponds
    Muddy hazel green and wet
    I hadn’t seen you in forever
    So I ran and I slid
    On socks over wood
    To be at your side
    To hug you with gusto
    And kiss both your cheeks
    Each plump rounded apple
    While gripping your arms
    As if I could stop you
    From leaving again
    Your hands olive-tan
    Softly creased by time
    Reached out for mine
    And stroked them with love
    My rough fingers polished
    By your aged chamois leather

    And from behind you
    A tiny cousin emerged
    Pushing a little trolley
    Stacked with silver-wrapped presents
    That were all for me
    They were stacked quite high
    And slid around a bit
    As he wheeled them past
    Like a miniature porter

    I looked into your eyes
    Those eyes I got from you
    Their shape and their soul
    Though mine much more green
    And you said just one thing:
    “Your eyes are neither too big nor too small”