Blue-Eyed Girls

 colored means brown for everything except eyes.

hers are like sea glass and aquamarine, 

rippling like waves, sun gracing the surface.

i don’t think they’ll ever leave my memory;

i’ll lie dying and my brain will just replay them

for the same non-reason i remember.

i don’t know if

it’s the shade, so summer-sky bright,

or if it’s everything else:

the fine, dancing hair;

the calcium-sand skin;

the pearl-pink, eden rose lips.

i don’t know if

i want her, just that i feel shy

because she’s my version of perfection;

a renaissance reverie, monument, feat.

she has the kind of body that’d emerge marble from a master’s hands,

like he’s a god feeling particularly giving,

and i’ve never even seen italy.

never been blessed like mary or david,

never been art or artful, just colored.

i don’t know how

she catches my eye when there’s a whole world around me

an anti-american paradise, blurred peridot, blurred fuchsia, blurred gold

a thousand sienna, ebon faces to forget

a thousand boundless sights — 

i am in a brand new country,

i am falling in love with that

— and still.

so i don’t know if

she’s special

or if i just want to be her

because she’s white and

because she’s hot and

because i had this vision in the mirror years ago

of a girl reborn with colored eyes:

bright blue, a reverie.