Blue eyes are there
In the pictures
In the memories
In the mirror
Blue eyes
We all have them
We all share the trait
We are a family of blue eyes and scattered brains
They had them too, Mary and Paul
Their parents had them
Their brothers and sisters
They all had blue eyes
And now where are they
An entire generation
An entire support system
Blue Eyes turned grey before closing for the last time
They have left, crumbled to dust
Gone
Except for mine
My parents
My brothers
Our blue eyes will live on
For now
About the Creator
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I promise her. I'd do anything for her. She's my mom. Even as Lanie and Deanna are flying home, Mom is scrappy fighting dying. She lays too still in that too-big bed with all the toasty white hospital blankets, in the south tower, at the broad end of a long slow-turning corner that delivers me again to her private room with the view she can't see through, with the beeping that tells us nothing new, and all these ice chips she can't swallow, and a flood of well-intentioned nurses who cannot do a damned thing all the same.
By Christy Munson3 days ago in Fiction
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