What damage can be done with two black eyes?
Real destruction, like the planes of nine eleven
Like a blunt twig, snapped in half and lobbed to heaven
or some stretched, coughing ventricle pinned between two reckless teeth.
Black eyes: not bags or bruises that speak of tiredness or sin
two pupils, maniacally studying every wrinkle within.
Sponged nose
pinballing from cheek to stomach
Chin lays
rests as snug as an umbrella on the arm
Tongue licks
like the hypnotic pop of bubble wrap
Eyes blink
black, black, but powerful as strobes
What would you do if you knew it was the last time?
Lick harder?
In the morning, my body bent and belly-flopped into the bath, longing to drown
Begging for God to eat, swallow my brain, praying nothing would remain in tact
If I could do it all again I’d shout: “Run!” as loud as the rain, and kiss every look.
Black days smell of you. They haunt me now. I did not deserve those eyes. None do.
Header photograph © Asher.
Amy Charlotte Kean is an advertising strategist, lecturer and writer from Essex. Her stories, rants, reviews and poems can be found on many sites including The Guardian, Disclaimer, Shots, Litro, Ink Sweat & Tears and the Drum. Her first book, The Little Girl Who Gave Zero Fucks, is out in November 2018.
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