Looking Forward
At eight years old you had
this amazing, brown-eyed stare.
I could look at you and you
would look right back,
straight-faced, eye to eye.
I have pictures of it. Your face
head-on, serious, clear
and honest eyes, not lifeless,
but not complicated, just
a straight and steady line,
enough to startle me, between
your eyes and mine.
I see one of those photographs
and I am reminded how
the world winds around us,
how we are defined and redefined,
and how our eyes are drawn
away and to the side until
we don't look deeply anywhere,
until we muddy our straight lines.
And maybe nothing's lost in that,
if we look askance in photographs,
or connect through stranger,
twisting paths, but I know
I miss the looking and I miss
the looking back.
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