by Freya Marshall Payne
What colour do you see – in my eyes?
Deep earth fruit, laughter lines
crease beetroot. Milskin iris.
Movement below. This iris is many things. Dust,
of demolition maybe. Sea spray erodes the rocks
here. Seawall sprayed haphazardly purple. Your chosen slogan displayed
to the elements. This grey pulsates lilac. Unasked: if he’s blind how did he know
my boyfriend was here and reach for the baby?
He asked: Are your eyes brown? I think there’s blue along the very edge,
cupped by skeletal pathways of blood. A loud laugh, hurrying passing footsteps
God speaks through my eyes: he sends everyone a different colour.
A welcome of sorts.