Surroundings

The earth talks to me.

The vibrations spur my feet on,

coaxing me to see with my body,

not just my eyes.

How much I miss by looking,

how much I see when my eyelids are shut.

Arms

Arms that wrap, tight, safe

fingers holding firm on shoulders.

Massaging tired body, mind

release from the daily hounding.

Even if it’s just for a moment, less than a minute,

a second snatched in a silent room,

a quiet corner free from the hungry

crowd of nattering, gossiping, whispering

eyes that see much

yet nothing at all.

A hug

they think.

A promise

we say.

Here We Are

So you want to know

what your closed eyes are missing?

 

Take my hand and I shall show you.

 

I’ll take you down to the stream

and let you dip your fingers in the cool water,

let you feel how the rocks break and curl the flow

and how the small fish

shy from your wake.

 

I’ll take you up hills and obscure paths,

hold your arms out wide

so you can be swept away by the wind

to fall easily among the long grasses and fallen catkins

that cheekily kiss your skin.

 

I’ll take you to forests where the rain has just eased

and the scent of wet earth and crisp leaves

rises to meet you with every stride,

while the birds flit overhead deep in song

and squirrels scamper up trees,

only to chitter angrily when you stray too close.

 

And after all that,

I’ll draw your hands to my face as I smile,

so you can feel each muscle lift, each crease of my eyes deepen

and feel the heat rise to my cheeks

as you finally blink awake

and look at me fully, gaze locked with mine.

 

Eyes

Eyes on a stranger’s face. Even blind

they can frame a person’s thoughts – windows in and out

are still windows if they’re glazed or frosted.

Seeing isn’t the only thing they can do.

 

Looking directly might hurt, like the sun. It’s okay

if you feel that way, distance and focus points help.

 

They might wash over you; a gentle wave on the coast.

More often than not, they will judge you, even if it’s unintentional.

Society might as well have us drink poison for all the filth we’re fed.

We can dress them up, paint them pretty colours

or frame them like precious art.

 

We can ignore them if they linger too long.

 

We can learn their greeting, learn their reluctance,

learn that everything and nothing might be hidden behind them.

If only to see you

I’ve got eyes on my hands and they’re watching you.

They’re watching you even when I’m not.

I can’t stand to, you broke me.

Buried me under rags made to look like fine silk,

curse words uttered so sweetly they might be compliments,

palms to my cheek masquerading as gentle caresses.

I can see that change in your eyes

even when I don’t care to look.

Notice your posture straighten, lips purse.

I can look away, but the eyes on my hands

stay focused, recording your every move.

Frequency; time, date. Evidence.

The fee for crossing

The oil paint stains his fingers.

Thick, congealed blood

two different shades of green.

One

for the tree,

one

for the reflection of the tree

on the wavering lake. Just

where that photograph of me

was taken.

It’s too dark to see me now,

but if you felt

around the pine needles,

you’d find cool metal coins,

two of them,

which I’d promised

to balance on my eyelids.