The Eyes – Lent Thirteen

Joán Miró

The eyes of the little girl
looking back at me over
her mother’s shoulder
are huge black holes
They take in everything
They tell me nothing
How does she process
all the images she receives?
Or does she simply delete?
Cut you & paste me
onto the clipboard
of her consciousness?
Then cut me & paste another
in my place?
She has no calendar
No curriculum vitae
Not even identification
She hasn’t a dollar to her name
A passenger aboard a train
from someone else’s past bound
backwards for someone else’s future
She has no clue of how hard
the path will be for her
when no longer carried she
will have to walk on her own
A thirsty young woman
among hard old men
who ask for everything
and offer little in return
And in the end are gone


About Peter Notehelfer

I'm a retired people person who now finds the time to watch the little details of the world without worrying about being watched by anyone . . . I live on an Island north of Seattle with my wife named Ellen, a yellow dog named McGee, a yellow cat named Gatzby, and four fine chickens . . . I read fiction, bake bread, smoke salmon, and fish whenever the weather allows . . . Oh, and yes, I try to write a poem every day simply to avoid senility!
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4 Responses to The Eyes – Lent Thirteen

  1. the Samaritan woman

    Liked by 1 person

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