Nostalgia by Miriam H. Harrison

 

what I remember most
from my last relationship is
his eyes

they were blue: pale
at the center, dark
around the edges, lightening
with his smile, clouding
with his anger

oh, how I miss
those eyes!

no, missed
those eyes—I fixed that
problem well enough

now I can see his eyes
whenever I like

it is not quite
the same—they
do not change with
his smiles, but then,
he does not
smile these days 

instead, I keep them in
a jar, hidden away in
my room

I take them out every
now and then, for old
time’s sake—but not
too often 

I do not want my
boyfriend to get jealous—as it
is, I worry things are not
going well between us

and I must admit, I
would really miss 

his lips…

 

---

 

Miriam H. Harrison writes to keep her fingers warm in her Northern Ontario home, though she finds silly dances with her young son to be best for warming her toes. She studies full time, works on the side, writes when should be doing other things, and trains the dust bunnies to fend for themselves. Fueled by too much coffee and not enough water, she would have certainly collapsed by now were it not for her husband. Her fiction and poetry have appeared in a number of publications, and she is an Active member of the Horror Writers Association.

Published 2/11/21