Amy Alley is a writer, artist, teacher, mother, and knitting fanatic who lives in beautiful upstate South Carolina. Her first book, The Absence of Anyone Else, was published in 2009. She maintains 2 blogs, The Boldness Initiative and Pan Pan Studios, and she can be contacted at amialley@hotmail.com. Her poem Letter to Myself on December 3 appeared here in December 2010.

Your eyes
By Amy Alley

I have leapt from mountains
into cold blue seas
braving unknown depths
in search of treasure.
I’ve been swept under
by currents,
assailed by ice, mountain dwelling
mermaid that I am. After all, I was born
in water
I can stay under for hours.
The deepest dwelling creatures know
my name. You knew my name.

Treading water, you were too quick to let
the currents pull you under. I could see
the shame, the anger hovering
there behind your eyes,
eyes more prone to rest
above a dueling pistol than a smile.
But then again, your smile was always
just beginning, on the verge
of breaking, like a wave. You surfaced
from the currents, spared again,
poise never faltering. You have had
years of practice
trying not to drown.

Years and years and depths
to plunge beneath. Hiding at the bottom,
you wrote your story truthfully,
then went back, omitted what
you could not bear to let another read. But we
skim these chapters anyway, remember?
We prefer illusions. We skip ahead
to the good parts, the apple pie and
lemon tea and we don’t meet
each others’ eyes across the table
while passing rolls and peas and lies
on down the line. In your backyard,
kiddie pools replaced oceans. Safe,
shallow, not disturbed by
waves, you could drain them dry
at will. Orange sky summer might just
go on forever.

But I know the truth that lies sunken
at the bottom of your pistol eyes.
Did you know the sea has eyes as well?
A treasure hunter found one
washed ashore. I lean in closer, staring at
the television screen, into a large blue globe
believed to be a swordfish eye.
I know better. You would, too.
Bigger than the scientist’s hand,

the eye stares back. A wave brought this.
Waves bring all that is dark,
buried, 
and unseen
to light. Released like a scream,
even the most macabre of treasures
knows that light 
is freedom.

Blinded,
you turn away.
You curse the waves
and drain the pool. 
You go under once again,
submerging fully.
I look away, too haunted
by the ocean’s lifeless eye
to meet its gaze. Swordfish? Maybe,
maybe not. Still, that
dark, hard eye
had a look
I recognized.