the mothers eyes are kind,
soft gaze of love tempered by
patience with her children.
the fathers eyes are soft,
worn at the edges by experience,
with a solid center of hope.
the young boys eyes are squeezed shut
by the expanse of his grin,
radiating pure joy.
the young girls eyes are jealous slits
looking askance at her brothers glee,
cold and hard as jewels.
the family lives now only in
the picture and blue-grey memories
of the girl, the kind with
soft edges and muted voices.
but she shuts away the memories.
and the picture gathers dust
in the home she left,
empty without their eyes.















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