A pair of sunglasses sits in the small open pocket of my passenger door, waiting for use on the sunny days when we go somewhere together. The pocket’s not big enough to serve as a cup holder, but not tight enough to effectively hold any napkins. Just the right fit for the proof of her presence. She tells me the lenses are polarized, and that means they protect her eyes more than other shades. I think her green eyes are the most beautiful I’ve ever seen. She says they hurt too much in bright light. The glasses have a brown turtle pattern and the bottom of the lenses are rounded, ready to sit perfectly atop her nose. During the months that we have to spend apart, they sit, the rattling in the door pocket filling the air that was otherwise filled with her singing. She’s a little pitchy. I am too.
POETRY FESTIVAL. Submit to site for FREE. Submit for actor performance. Submit poem to be made into film. 