Thursday, July 23, 2020

Her Eyes

     Those eyes.  
They hold the emotion and memory of all the years between us.
Like precious things, shining, catching light and shielding it all in the pool of our yesterdays.

They remember walks through a park in Spokane, Sofia, Nairobi, Varna...
         ...City squares in Poznan, Krakow, Georgetown, Tirana, Ljubljana, Rome...
                   Gazing out across the waters of the Indian Ocean, Pacific, Atlantic,
                       Black Sea, Baltic, Aegean, Deception Pass, Lake Lowell, Naivasha and Bled.

Through broken hearts and bandaged knees.
      Arms too weak to fight and words too hard to un-hear...
They see our babies,
          our daughters
              our "little women" released unto this time.
Still hoping,
     still weeping,
       still laughing,
         still believing in The Weaver, and the strength of his thread.
They remember it much more than I do.
       Those eyes.

They don't surrender.
             They don't run.
                  They don't flinch.
                          They hold.
They have held me for decades now...                                    
And I am happy to be captured in their certainty.

New mornings
          on the heels of many long days.
Coffee and avacado toast.
              A few moments of quiet.
All of these histories mirrored there,
like the pages in her books of healing,
                        hope and courage..."She did it anyhow."

So, an "I love you" from the kitchen,
                        a kiss at the door.
                        I stop, look...they hold me once more
And I know that neither of us will ever grow old,
              In your eyes.

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