Green eyes pierce through me like an ice pick
beat me down to a single fleck of dirt
as I sit on my bed staring at the phone
I know she’s giving me that look--
THAT LOOK she’s given me my entire life.
It’s followed me around through college and beyond
like a pesky little sister trying to fill my shoes.
It’s haunted me in my sleep,
tantalized my wedding night--
the look has even prompted me to push, push, PUSH
when giving birth one, two, three times.
Those chromatic eyes have been known
to attract flocks of blackbirds.
They gather in the dark alley
behind her house on Chipberg Lane
perch side by side and wait
to fly away, just to spite that look.
I know she’s looking at me through the phone
as she tries to send me on a guilt trip
because of the way I paint the sea
in my mind, a refuge from this lifelong hell;
little does she know I’m already there.
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