by Len Kuntz
I made it look like an accident, an iris happenstance, tearing the blue out of my eye, first one pupil then the next. The sun was the only thing that went down that day, stayed there, head in the dirt, glowing in the ground like a brim but nothing more, blinded, not even breathing. After the fire, you said I’d never love you the same, your face full of scar melt now. But you were wrong: here are my eyes to prove it.
I made it look like an accident, an iris happenstance, tearing the blue out of my eye, first one pupil then the next. The sun was the only thing that went down that day, stayed there, head in the dirt, glowing in the ground like a brim but nothing more, blinded, not even breathing. After the fire, you said I’d never love you the same, your face full of scar melt now. But you were wrong: here are my eyes to prove it.
What really strikes me most about this poem is your perspective--how you start with this extreme close up of the eye and then continue to pull back with the sun setting for a much wider view and then at the end, you are back with the eyes. Nicely done.
ReplyDeleteLiked the sounds of 'iris happenstance' and 'scar melt'.
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