Gris-Gris, an online journal of literature, culture & the arts

When Brown Eyes Close

by Ron Wallace

(For Larisa)

Summer should sing like a thunderstorm
out behind the stadium with you,
my brown-eyed girl,
my sweet brown-eyed girl,
and darkness hide
far away from the long light of July.

This is not right
not right
not right,
my smiling girl.

When soft brown eyes close
beneath blue skies,
the stones of a damaged universe
should not hold
in their patterned places.
They should scatter in all directions
and fly
like leaves in a howling wind
to fall
like voices in whispered confusion.

This is not right, my smiling girl
not right
not right at all.