Her Curse
Previously published by Crow Literary Review
Anne Le i g h Pa rri sh
the eye she lost rolled up on the beach
she knew it from its wink
and the blue iris, flecked with black
was so sweetly familiar
from hours she spent staring in the mirror
hungry to know how
another would see her
which is why the eye left in the first place
though it didn’t say so at the time and wouldn’t say so now —
the remaining eye wept with joy at the return of its mate
the missing eye didn’t
it longed too much for the sea
all those eddies and currents
creatures that glowed, plants that swirled, the chiseled
elegance of a coral reef —
back on dry land it closed against the shock of sunlight
and refused to open until darkness fell
turning her into a child of the night
who lived on moonlight and cold sparkle of stars
shadowed and murky
pale, wasted, invisible, and alone
cursed by the whim of her wandering eye
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Cauldron Anthology