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The olive and tan scarf
that covers her head
brings into harmony
her placid features; the moon
of her face, and the caramel orbs
of her eyes.
My own eyes linger
on a bulge
protruding from her forehead.
Not a laceration, but
an eruption in the landscape.
My unabashed stare meets hers,
and candy eyes harden to stone
as a pair of hands
readjust to veil
what I admire.
(previously published in The Blue House)
copyright 2002
Marie
Lecrivain |
