When I was just a babe so small
before the powers to speak were mine
eyes were the captivating things
a living, moving shrine.

Earliest memories of sparkling blue
held the early warmth of the sun.
Emotions colored with many a hue
where familiar and trusted runs.

I’d gaze into her eyes enthralled
the mother who once called me hers
our communications quite complete
perfection in effect occurs.

Later I’d use the other’s eyes
as windows to their inner thoughts
I imagined I could see the lies
as I watched them all unfold.

So long as I could see their eyes
the words and gestures made no mind
for gestures and words serve other gods
and useless things of kind.

Messages that held the truth
were always silent fare
It’s easy enough to grasp in youth
and ever harder when seasons turn.

The ones to fear have eyes so opaque
that there is naught there to be read.
Are they so unfeeling? Or is it possible
that their insides are quite dead?

and something I just lately saw
when looking in the mirror jars
my own eyes have grown a recent flaw
and now seem to be like hers.

Rules of Succession
 
You found her through a contact list
out on the Internet.
You presented yourself as someone she once knew
and not someone she’d never met.

You wrote that you just wanted to talk
but never told her just what for.
You didn’t even acknowledge the fact
that you’d once stood face to face before.

That distant day remains indelibly etched
as the worst day she’d ever known.
Six years of hell culminating in
a waking nightmare born full-grown.

Perspective absent – hands on hips –
you smugly reveled in her inevitable woe.
You hid in plain sight under another’s name
and watched her storm-tossed to and fro.

Your viewpoint had been tainted
by the stories you’d been told.
Your act of passing judgment
was premature and false and cold.

Standing in her faded, worn kitchen
amidst the ruins of her former life
you had already made your detailed plans
to replace her as his wife.

The person you saw before you that day
had already broken under his lies.
She’d never had the chance to catch her breath,
to overcome the emptiness, to get wise.

You showed no mercy or understanding
as you watched that day unfold.
You were part of the crew that carried her life to auction
your steps were resolute, self-righteous, bold.

And that was that – or so it seemed –
as all went their separate ways.
You with him – arm in arm – triumphant.
She (the soon-to-be ex) in a reactionary daze.

Now five years later you sent her an email
in a light and breezy tone.
Did you really expect a like response of
“Hope all is well”, or that she’d phone?

Whatever life you’ve built with him
is yours and yours alone.
She has no desire for details
and even less to hear you moan

for she can well imagine what has come to pass
as the timeline is just about right,
the honeymoon’s over, his mask has slipped
and your daily life is full of fight.

The money that he took from her under
false colors has probably just run out,
and now he needs a new bottomless well as
old habits die hard, there’s no doubt.

You’ve discovered your soul-mate has feet of clay
and now feel compelled to try to compare notes.
You’re looking for someone who might understand
and who’ll not just bombard you with religious quotes.

So – figuratively speaking – you’re back in the kitchen
and the sequel is in full bloom.
A classic case of: “ If from history you’ll not learn,
repetition will be your doom.”

But today you’ve come to the wrong address
for her interest is less than nil.
She doesn’t even have the desire to watch
you have to swallow that bitter pill.

All she has for you is to tell you to find a lawyer
who can build you an impenetrable moat.
Oh yes – and something she almost forgot –
she gladly abdicates to you her old, now superfluous, rudderless boat.