Jaclyn Burr’s most recent poem to appear here was “The Cherry Tree” (January 2017)
Brown Eyes
By Jaclyn Burr
I remember arguing,
expelling all the wind from my shallow lungs,
blood blooming in my cheeks.
I defended what I knew:
my eyes were a lovely blue—
a misty, ethereal, shimmering hue.
As I shielded the radiant veneer,
my sisters’ snickers fueled my indignation.
Eyes welling with tears, I tumbled up the winding staircase—
an endless maze blocking my salvation,
limbs flailing, but guided by the lump in my throat.
In the bathroom I closed the door of peeling white paint,
as my feet slipped on frigid, 1970s, mustard tiles.
I glared into the mirror,
heart pounding in my chest,
but to my torrential shock:
fierce dark eyes stared back at me.
Not translucent water
or dynamic sky—
but heaviness, mystery,
and darkness, unyielding.
I froze against the piercing of my delicate facade.
As reality crushed imagination,
I rummaged for anything in the pieces of what remained.
It was the first of many phantom fantasies
I’d shatter along the way.
Finally, I strode down the steps
in calm reticence,
staring at this new world
through awakened shades of brown.
Thank you for alloying us to travel through life with you.