She had been gone for two months
And already I found myself
Leaving my bedroom at night
To stare at her portrait on the
Living room wall with a flashlight
What did she look like?
What was the color of her eyes?
The eyes I had so foolishly neglected.
When she visited for Christmases
And Thanksgivings, her arms were
Full of textbooks and not of me.

“You have rootbeer eyes.”
She laughed and the caramel
Swirled with fire.
She turned back to stirring.
“…or cockroach eyes.”
She threw out the brown smoking confection
And as she itched her eyes, her
Watering, labrador eyes,
I smelled sweet, burning plastic.
The smoke rises higher.