I was walking into the fruit store and noticed you had the brownest eyes twinkling above an n95 mask. I said, good to see you. You smiled.
You were walking down or was it up, Penelope. I nodded to you as you turned your head away, I wouldn’t have bitten you. Your mask was a jaw bone of a skull, are you afraid?
In the drug store, I recognized you immediately. Your eyes and your covered face had a lively and caring, no, welcoming smile. You remembered me. You told me to be safe.
The wind was blowing up the street with more dust and debris, making me sneeze and my eyes water. From a few feet, away came the query, Are you okay? You saw my distress and, without ever touching me, saw my eyes.
Walking down the street, a woman advised me to be cautious as I walked. I had my headphones on my ears, so I didn’t hear what she said. She looked afraid, nodding in the direction she had come. Her mask muffled her words, yet her eyes indicated a man coming in our direction. He was yelling, spitting, had no face covering, and his eyes held rage. I thanked my benefactor and walked into the street around the source of her concern. Our eyes blessed each other. Our eyes prayed for him.
The rubber gloves are lying in the curb, not the trash. Who wore them, and did they see my eyes ask why they hate themselves and me so much? I wasn’t wearing gloves, because I didn’t have any, so I didn’t pick-up that trash on the curb and certainly didn’t touch my face. Later, with a paper bag in hand, I picked the curb clean. Using hand sanitizer, I watched as I saw others looking at me as if I had lost my mind while washing my hands. I smiled and nodded. Looking away, they hurried on.
Mourners were standing in the cemetery with tear-soaked and dripping masks and gloves. Their eyes were bloodshot as they stood lost in grief, lost in covers.
Did you see my eyes today? Did you see your eyes today or yesterday? What did those eyes tell you about, you? Who did you help free and heal? Not a stare of aggression, but eyes, eyes that see love.
