Ojos de azul y oro
Remember that first tree—
not a tree, we could not afford one,
nor gifts it seemed—but a tumbleweed
found in the lot across Grand Avenue?
You sprayed it white as if snow
had settled on it. Then made
ornaments of remnants of yarn
from Mrs. Finch, whose gift to us
was a respite from rent.
You made small ojos de Dios of blue
and gold, the gold the center spot
and tassels at the four directions.
The blue was the same as your eyes,
and the gold reminded me
of the flecks of amber that made
me smile each time I looked there.
Your eyes are closed now.
I cannot look there again—
the ojos I see clearly
against the snows of winter.