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| Poem by Jack E. Miller and Image by Martha Di Giovanni |
her
eyes were open
the
eyes of the universe
her
eyes were open
her
eyes were opened
she
saw something they did not
her
eyes were opened
I
don’t want to see
her
eyes because her eyes see
I
don’t want to see
nineteen
fifty-five
N Y C Spanish Harlem
North
America
offered
from her eyes
those
chosen to have eyes open
universally
bright
a
color not brown
but
horn color desert rock
pushed
up through the floor
rim
of onyx to
an
amber edged iris
color
progression
eyelids
unopen
defined
pupil and iris
beneath
their cover
her
eyelids remain
ripples
waiting for a splash
of
inspiration
her
eyes hold the shape
in
her pupil and iris
when
closed of the moon
with
just the muscle
needed
to lift her eyelid
she
shows her power
her
revelation
concealed
with subtle finesse
as
would a weapon
she
will understand
when
they will not understand
they
do not believe
they
may understand
may
not want to understand
so
they turn their heads
do
not look at me
will
you turn your eyes away
you
see me too well
stop
looking at me
their
eyes are not in hers because
they
know her eyes see
they
turn from the light
hold
their hands to block the sun
don’t
open their mail
their
eyes are blocked
their
heads are turned and nodded
they
are in her eyes
they
are afraid of
into
her vision
more
a projection
her
eyes than a refraction
she
sees in and through
her
eyes let escape
not
only what her eyes see
but
their eyes don’t see
she
is always here
wait
for her in the open
to
see her appear
a
time traveler
here
for a moment and gone
see
if you can see
Thank you!
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