My right eye won’t blink.
It remains open and frozen
As a dead tuna.
Sunglasses keep the retina
From burning on days
Without clouds.
The left eye ignites with life.
It mocks the failed one
By lid-fluttering as fast as
A hummingbird’s wings.
The side of my face
With the bum eye
Droops as if melted.
Don’t snap pictures of me,
Even at Christmas.
No graveyard burial for me.
Ignite the gas
And burn me to ashes.
Kirby Wright was born and raised in Hawaii. He frequently writes about his part-Hawaiian grandma, the first woman to drive cattle for a living on the remote island of Moloka’i.
Comments are closed.
The Poet deconstructs the self to the point of ashes. A very interesting trip to the interior world, to say the least. Bravo!