My Eyes 2012
Look into my eyes.
Do not look at the wrinkled skin,
The sagging muscles,
The stained teeth.
Look into my eyes.
Remove the layered curtains.
Can you see the young man in there,
The idealist,
The true believer.
Can you see that glow
That comes from the belief
That time is on his side?
I look into my eyes
From the inside.
I turn thin time layers
One by one, like plastic overlays
On some old biology textbook
I fan my life out
behind me.
Saturday Afternoon, Kentucky
1949
Gooseberries, green with curious veins.
Sweet and tart.
Like childhood scenes.
My grandfather swinging his cane.
Mad with dementia.
He chasing old man demons,
And me.
Me running, unafraid of demons or him,
But aware of the cane.
An old lady sits on a porch,
Churning butter.
Behind her sets an icebox.
Big chunks of melting ice smelling cold and fresh.
With a hint of cigarette smoke.
Church Sunday Morning,
Kentucky 1950
Orange flowers filling ditches.
Sunny and bright,
The weather and me.
Gravel crunches beneath my new shoes.
In my Sunday go to meetin' clothes
I am beautifully alone
For a mile or so.
Fellowship begins in the basement
In the small brick church.
Coffee and cigarettes
Not for me, yet.
Upstairs, organ music gently blends with
The rustle of cloth as people settle.
