I’ve heard that pupils
dilate when looking at
something you love.

After 116 days you
called and I didn’t
want to talk but
you insisted so
I interrupted and
asked what color
my eyes are.

I even told you I wish
I had my mother’s green
eyes envious of my sister
for getting to wear them,
and that on a lucky day a bit of
shamrock can be found in
the muck of my eyes.

After that I’d widen my eyes,
and ask what color they were
that day. You’d always say
green, telling me exactly what
I wanted to hear.

I could never forget
the icebergs you call eyes
because they never did
change in size.
So a week later
I called and told you
exactly what you didn’t
want to hear.

And I no longer mark
days lucky or unlucky
based on what I see
others seeing in me.