Ocular trauma

Ocular trauma

I was coating myself in glue

So I wouldn’t have to move

when you came to warm

your ego by the fire.

Your face was

a carefully constructed ice sculpture

that you crafted yourself

in the mirror that morning.

But your voice didn’t reach me

it paused and got stuck

at the letter “I”.

I glared through the flames

felt my face turn to lava

and spat out the sparrows

that were pecking, ceaselessly

at the walls of my heart.

They struck you above your ears

causing such a shock

that your eyes became loose,

unscrewed, and fell out.

I caught them in my small hands

and clutched them

to my chest.

When you left

to comb your blonde hair

with a brick

I kept your eyes

rolling around in my pocket

with a twenty cent piece

and a list of old wishes.

I walked down an escalator

to a park, where I sat

next to a patch

of marbled white mushrooms

and stared at my knees.

After an hour, I felt your eyes

looking through my clothes

at the ridge of my back

my spine stretching me forever

up, down and across.

I took out your eyes

and held them up

to the nearly cloudless sky,

begging them to see

from a higher point

from a higher mountain

or a more distant planet.

That six o’clock evening

The fading light was stroking my cheeks

telling me not to cry.

I tried to swallow your eyes

after my cup of hot lies

and a slice of dry hope.

I choked on your eyes that night

they wouldn’t go down

because they could never be

a part of me.

And so I left them

on a street corner

underneath a flickering street lamp

in the hope that one day

they would see the light.