Touch Me With Your Eyes Joshua Lundquist She lay on a whited pillow, small fragments of glass still sparkled in her hair. Her eyes were closed. She had sat crunched next to me in what once had been her seatboth unable to move. We looked, and our eyes met.
We lay on bloodied stretchers, side by side in the ambulance. Her face, blanched yet beautiful, turned. And I looked into those watery brown eyes. She rolled through the swinging doors surrounded by blue on a bed of white. As they took her from me her lips moved, "I won't close my eyes," she said. She rested in stillness and lace, eyes closed on an upturned face. The lid shut. I groped— Eyes staring, empty.
Now I sit quietly— sun flecks sparkling, shivered on the groundas I hold her picture, and touch her with my eyes
