Inside These Eyes of Blue

Side my side. Brown eyes next to blue.

Reflections in the water, a magnifying glass.

Your brown eyes see past primes.

Silver hidden beneath dye.

Starlight that kissed your head on a late summer night,

rocking a newborn to sleep.

Scars.

A reminder that your past was real,

 but that you were stronger than what tried to hurt you.

A spot on your hand.

A smile glowing in the sunlight,

touching pink cheeks alive with delight.

A crinkle in your eye.

Laughter making your eyes disappear amidst giggles and memories.

Worn and tired.

Your dreams have become your life,

goals ceased that were once desires.

When the water flows from your cheeks

and some days are too hard to fake that smile;

It’s just the little girl in the woman that a child now calls mom.

You’ve been seeing through a tinted lens of brown.

If only you could live inside these clear blue eyes.

You see, these blue eyes have looked up to see

brown eyes closed as they rocked me to sleep.

And you weren’t there to feel what your hand felt like in mine,

as we lie talking in scratchy hospital sheets and an undersized bed.

And you never saw the happiness in your eyes when they read

those 3 letters on my back as I sang the national anthem.

Because these blue eyes have seen that pain fade

into a peaceful sleep that summer.

And you should have understood the look of tenderness on your face

as your son told you he loved you for the last time before he walked away.

Don’t you understand, mom, you think you’ve seen these pieces of you from mirrors and printed photographs.

But if you could live inside these eyes of blue,

then maybe you’d finally see YOU.