Oil

I was not sleeping, with my cheek

pecking kisses

on the slabs of a bench

when I watched you walk by.

I was not close

but twenty feet

from the eyes of your head, and you looked up

to be a pale, almost sickly sight that most others would turn from,

even dread,

and you made a glance at me as clear as ice.

 

It was oily ice

from your oily eyes sticking to mine,

spreading clearly

 

open

 

like ears being told what it is being said.

 

You said,

 

“don’t listen with your ears, but your heart.

don’t see with your eyes but your ears.

think with a head that could never be dead

and be weary of what’s fallen from your fears,”

 

and you didn’t even open your mouth.

 

So I shed a few layers,

and I sat up to watch you go.

 

You turned right off into the trees.

 

Sophia Elizabeth Cox, USA