By: Catherine Wei
When I think of eyes, I think of
Ancient sequoias, watching centuries from the ground,
The pleading gaze of the witness born of mud and magma,
Earth’s warm cavity, holding us with granite bones-
Ancient yet omniscient. Wild yet familiar.
But when I think of eyes, I think too of
The hunger to consume,
The heart pulse. The forests. The skies.
Where Coral reefs bleaches to white,
Networks of mycelium, smoothed with concrete.
And—
The glow in the moonlight,
Flickers faintly, fiercely,
Like defiance, fighting against rupture .
Slowly fading against the monstrous weight of human hands.
She shudders. Shatters.
Our first mother, child, yet now—
All that cradles this trembling existence.
When I think of eyes,
I wonder if we opened our eyes to their wounds,
Would the earth reveal its maps ?
Would poetry bloom
From the cracks in our forgotten—
Home.
