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Black eyes

Not brown
not blue and
certainly
not green

her eyes are black
mirrors

they mirror anything and everything
the deep dark green valleys
of her Kentucky childhood

banjos

clear frosty mornings and mountain blues
Florida alligator poaches and swamp hues
her eyes are black
mirrors

desolate trucker stop motels at midnight
Delancey street in NYC at first sunlight
over Williamsburg bridge

The one time somebody called her “nigger” and meant it.

Her first miscarriage. Her only daughter born.
To a man that went to Iraq.
Signed on the day after 9/11 and never came back.

She misses his smile and his hands trough her hair.
brown hands

Not brown
not blue and
certainly
not green
her eyes are black
mirrors

the rainbows in my heart as I walk up to her.
So I walk up to her.
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