New Eyes

Son, you take
this dusty bowl
to the autumn
hospital bed

let the nurses fill
with ragged bones
and stitches cut 
from chirping birds

their legs a pin
stuck into cork
the note attached
a referendum

of better days
when I was young
and had eyes 
that were my own

Β© Eve Redwater 2012


19 thoughts on “New Eyes

  1. Hi Eve/Stacy, I’m really not sure which name to call you so feel free to correct me.
    I have read this poem over and over again. And I don’t understand the message. I’m sorry, and am sure it is just me.
    But I want to wish you a good night and a lovely tomorrow.
    Hugs, xx

  2. Eve, I find your poetry really haunting and beautiful. Paired with the poetry it is really poignant. I’d love to know more about how you cultivate your creative process. Sometime do share more about yourself…your poetry indicates a very intereting creator. πŸ™‚ Debra

  3. i once heard a story about glass cages – i’m trying to fit the pieces together – i need sleep πŸ™‚

    • Hello Muse!
      Lovely to see a new face here, thank you very much for taking the time to read my work. πŸ™‚ I’m so happy this one makes you think, that’s really great for me to hear! Please stop by again sometime!

  4. Ah, new eyes for old age . . .

    My grandma, who had Alzheimer’s for quite a long time before she died, saw all kinds of things that we didn’t, and my parents were good at understanding that she could simply see things that we couldn’t, not that they weren’t necessarily so. This is evocative of both that, for me, and of how I came to see *her* through new eyes as a result, while she was becoming older and smaller and more indistinct in this world . . .

  5. Very interesting, curious. “stitches cut from chirping birds” is horribly violent somehow. “had eyes that were my own”, I can feel.

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