Looking Back by Frances Briggs

Look. Take a good look. Don't be afraid. Swivel your head like the owl and look. Do you see the three owls strutting in a tree? The golf club smashing bone and flesh? The smooth white of winter snow lying undisturbed? The open mouth and eyes of the dead? The eyes of a friend closed in laughter? The fish struggling on a hook? The dog bouncing up from under the wheel and falling in the road? The child running with open arms? A lover's eyes rolling back in ectasy? The lizard curled above the door? The jar of honey broken on the kitchen floor? The water reflecting morning light? The dread of a ringing phone after midnight? The sound of a clod thrown in the grave? The echoing crash of a wave? The memory of a world created in a book? Look. You won't turn to stone. Or become a pillar of salt. The stone of your heart will melt and the salt will flow from your eyes.

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