Poetry / My Mother's Eyes

I have my mother’s eyes.

Minus the mascara and years. Minus a lot like the, like the tears that she fought when I used to leave for Christmas and come back with a skirt that wouldn’t fit me for at least another year cause— maybe that’s when I’ll see him again.

Those eyes, strong and a brilliant shade of espresso worth more than the coffee they make, half awake, every morning when it’s time to get up for work. An early start with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with a heart butter knifed into her “I Love You” art—She always manages to say that without even blinking, those honest eyes never thinking about anything but making us kids live and smile. And we do, not just for a while, but always.

I see myself in her eyes, like vhs copies of back then when we couldn’t afford the machine to make them, but she saved them and I can rent them out whenever I want—see my brother, 2, with a bib and a Winnie the Pooh, 6 with a baseball that she would eventually teach him to throw, cause she always saw how important it was for him to know that he was a man, and that as a woman she would teach him that as best she can, and she did, and he is, and I’m proud.

I used to watch her, in the mirror, in the 80’s, with bright blue eye shadow, and a date. And as I got older and the dates got longer I used to warn him not to bring her home too late. Switched the roles up—watched her grow up. Share a drink and smoke a butt, and she smacks my face when I get out of place, and she kicks my butt to open my eyes when I lose my place cause she sees what I can’t sometimes.

But the iris and cornea that meet my brown reflections when we laugh into each others eyes are the same. The future that we look into is painted with the same love and hope and past and present.

I have my mother’s eyes.

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Reviews

January 05, 2006

ThoughtFull

No. of Reviews	Overall Quality	Comment Followup
10	0.0% (0 votes)	47.4%

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Age	Gender	Location	Last Login
28			October 11

ThoughtFull reviewed Version 1 - Read 100%% of the Item

I love the style. Not the expected ‘poem’ but definitely not structured prose. I think the opening “I have my mother’s eyes. Minus the mascara and years.” is fantastic. There is a lot of detail throughout and those most specific lines lend the most emotion. The last section could use more of that specificity…”she kicks my butt to open my eyes…” maybe tell us what she sees in you. Open that up more for the reader. This made me feel about my own mother- which is the most important part of any writing to me.