NR Digital

Poetry

by Jennifer Reeser

HEELS UPON THE TILE

When I consider your devoted eyes,
devoid of any vice I could reject,
alive with avid interest, subtly flecked,
and focused on my face with slight surprise,
it seems as though I had disturbed a séance
in which the phantoms of the past collect,
to see in me preposterous, weird nuance,
dramatic as mascara when it dries.

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