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Open Poetry #4
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Their Father's Green Eyes
| Open Poetry #4 |
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Their Father's Green Eyes |
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Martie
Moderator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-09-21
Posts 28049California 
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Their Father’s Green Eyes Picture something small and malignant under the soft brown curl of hair, something pea sized. Picture two sons. Who would love them ever, as much as she did? From the antiseptic room driving, driving, she passed green trees and gardens, a woman with a hose young and shapely in shorts watering the shrubs roses and petunias of a normal, healthy life. Passed mothers with babies in strollers, parks full of baseball playing boys, muscular men jogging down streets, old women in flowered dresses walking dogs. She passed young girls holding hands with pimply-faced boys. She looked through tears. His, her husband’s, callused work-worn hands moved across the soft plane of her belly, cupped her mother breasts, that still leaked milk when she got excited and for a moment everything was alright. That summer night, the window open and the crickets singing, awake, aching loss, time’s steady march into a future. quiet, quiet as a tongue licking velvet cat paws, after the kill. Morning, face in the three way mirror on and on into the room, a crowd of me, she thought and touched the cold glass. Lying on the rug, her child, methodically chewing a piece of gum. Straw hair, bleached in places around his face, tongue slipped between lips concentration, blue jeaned legs keeping time. Could have been a baby sleeping brown lash soft, instead he was eight. The chocolate ice cream around his mouth, the ink drawings on his arm the grass stains on his knees were evidence of a life apart from her. Transfixed by the beauty of this child His brother burst blooming like flowers into the room, when he smiled a gap where his front teeth had been. Then an ease came to her center and their father’s green eyes became her determination. < !signature--> In the dew of little things, the heart finds its morning and is refreshed. (ee cummings) [This message has been edited by Martie (edited 12-18-1999).] |
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| © Copyright 1999 Martie Odell Ingebretsen - All Rights Reserved | |||
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hoot_owl_rn Member Patricius
since 1999-07-05
Posts 10750Glen Hope, PA USA |
Martie...I find your use of imagery amazing!! |
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Martie
Moderator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-09-21
Posts 28049California |
Thank you hoot, I find you amazing! In the dew of little things, the heart finds its morning and is refreshed. (ee cummings) |
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Marge Tindal 
since 1999-11-06
Posts 42384Florida's Foreverly Shores |
Martie - There is SO much in this one. The phrasing just too REAL .. what images you've presented. This is truly a favorite of mine. 'Morning, face in the three way mirror on and on into the room, a crowd of me, she thought and touched the cold glass.' WOW ! I think that a crowd of you would be a good thing to see. ~*Marge*~ ~*The pen of the poet never runs out of ink, as long as we breathe.*~ noles1@totcon.com |
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Seaangel Member
since 1999-07-27
Posts 167Auckland, New Zealand |
You keep opening my eyes to new things, Martie. I love the sequencing of this poem. Are you going to write a Christmas poem? Please do!  |
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Severn Member Rara Avis
since 1999-07-17
Posts 7704 |
Agreeing with all of the above of course. Wow - trying to slip between all the images and follow the central one...each individual image just grabbed me - you write in such a way that you assault the senses, my friend. Fantastic! K |
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Martie
Moderator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-09-21
Posts 28049California |
Marge--thank you so much for always reading my stuff and especially for liking it. Seaangel--a Christmas poem--so busy now at flower shop, how about an after-christmas poem. Thanks for your comments so sweet. Severn--I love writing things that you like--you are so receptive. Thank you! In the dew of little things, the heart finds its morning and is refreshed. (ee cummings) |
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