You shift your eyes so that people may not see the truth;
Shielding yourself with innocent looks;
Not really holding a stare;
Afraid to be seen for who you truly are;
Ashamed and fearful of your lips,
What might it reveal and what not?
So you lower your eyes;
And shift your eyes;
shielding yourself with innocent looks

We enter the church and immediately
have to push through two dozen sobbing Italian women
dabbing dry eyes; their tissues only show
black and multi-colored smears. Amid the echoing
“Oh my Goawd”s, they lean down and kiss my sister’s cheeks,
but even in my best black cap sleeves, I am the taboo
to my cousin Janet, a woman as barren as the stone lot
in between her husband’s restaurant and Deihl’s Autoshop.

We find an empty pew, and watch as the men
stride down the aisle, contestants
in a cultural Miss America pageant where the wrong answer
gets you whacked. Their heavy brows
sink in condolence as they hand over stacks of bills,
every hundred becoming a pity penny
for all the moments Janet lost in her luxury-life
made shiny by diamonds and cars and fur coats
which can’t be cashed in for a second chance at a family.

The men have paid for the food, the china, the band
in the corner meant to fill the space of sadness—
a reminder that we live a lavish life.
My sister shifts in her seat and as a man walks
by she touches his jacket, and gasps.
He’s a god.

Fun is fun when it runs along in its merry way
but when the sky turns liquid gray
all the fun goes away
cause through my eyes
my dull gray eyes
I see right through your foolish lies
I know that you do not know
and I do not let it show
be that as it may
with my eyes of gray
powers of plenty
I look within my realms
of mind and heart
you can't look into them
you can't look away
from my enchanting eyes of gray
driving driving driven on
to other lands and a further dawn
the deserts sandy storm has blown
and all the dust be dusted clean
and filtered through the cracks unseen

© Crystal Erickson 2007

People ask me why am so quiet,
and I say it's because I have nothing
worth saying aloud at the moment.

I watch, observing others waste
their words, and I don't see the point.
When I speak, it shall have worth.

And yet, when I make attempts,
often I am interrupted by others
who value their own words above mine.

My words are no more important than another's,
but if I take the time to speak them,
I feel I should be given the chance.

So why am I so quiet? Honestly,
part of the reason is because
even when I bother to speak,
                                                    no one hears me.

I see the children observe this world
Innocently
I see them observe
The wrinkles in hands
The wrinkles in faces
The scars
Their father's tattoos
Their mother's smooth hair
Innocently
They see through barriers
Simple friendships made
Whenever they make contact with a stranger
With a wave
Or a smile
A laugh
Innocently
They are immune to the barriers that differences make in a "matured" mind
They only observe
Innocently

Murmured voices break the silence

To my right
a cute couple clink
their wine glasses together
in a celebratory toast.

Off to the left,
an older gentleman
engages an old-ish lady
in whispered conversation.
I’m guessing he’s whispering
sweet nothings to his bride.

The well dressed young man
standing at the bar
survey’s the crowd,
looking restless.
He seems to be waiting
for…

Ah, that beautiful girl
that just walked in.
Her eyes light up,
his face breaks into
a big smile.

I love the ambience
of this old place.
Red carpets,
dim lights,
candles flickering in
every direction.

My time here is
almost done.
I only need
some sugar
for this last
cup of coffee.