Eyes and I
by Jessica Steves
I keep a jar of eyes beside my bed
the way a lady might keep a dish for her earrings.
And, like a lady, I wear a new pair every day.
there are the eyes of a saint
looking for the most desperate of lost souls, for miracles, for the work of God in the hands of beggars
there are the eyes of an artist
looking for the brightest shade of dawn, for inspiration, for the perfect curve of a woman’s neck
there are the eyes of a soldier
looking for enemy troop movements, for food, for the ground best worth making a stand upon
there are even the eyes of a landscape contractor
looking for salvageable swampland, for sales, for skylines to clear for the sake of sunsets
and my first pair of eyes languishes at the bottom of the jar
dimming, glazing with cataracts
forgotten
hardened into pallid plastic pearls
fit only to be a poor lady’s dollar-store earrings
the way a lady might keep a dish for her earrings.
And, like a lady, I wear a new pair every day.
there are the eyes of a saint
looking for the most desperate of lost souls, for miracles, for the work of God in the hands of beggars
there are the eyes of an artist
looking for the brightest shade of dawn, for inspiration, for the perfect curve of a woman’s neck
there are the eyes of a soldier
looking for enemy troop movements, for food, for the ground best worth making a stand upon
there are even the eyes of a landscape contractor
looking for salvageable swampland, for sales, for skylines to clear for the sake of sunsets
and my first pair of eyes languishes at the bottom of the jar
dimming, glazing with cataracts
forgotten
hardened into pallid plastic pearls
fit only to be a poor lady’s dollar-store earrings