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Muddy
May 22, 2014
Mud
“The eyes are the windows of the soul,
and yours, my dear,
are very blurry,” she said
as she wiped my salty tears away.
She looked at me,
smiled,
and asked me what was wrong.
The chilled
granite countertop pressed against
my elbows and
the rain drummed against the
Foggy windows.
Through them, I saw strokes of
green and brown,
Thick and
Muddy.
I told her everything.
© Roxana R., Tustin, CA
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