seeing things

in progress free write 10.14.24

Memories as floating music, thoughts as a movie screen, people as imprints in eyes.

Last night I closed my eyes and within the blackness of my lids, forever open eyes staring into the dark cascade of matter, the imprints of people, etches like chalk.

The lines would grow larger, smaller, closer, farther, breathing in and out. The lines slicing so close that I would startle, and try to close them but eyes cannot be hidden from the things embedded in the lid.

They at first were in the corners, people in groups, two on my right side and three on my left, the one on my left with shorter hair, which I knew in my bones to be red, despite no reflection of light, no reflection of the dazzling sun on warmed cherries, and she was red-haired with clashing teeth that snarled over her shoulder as she would look at me and then back at her partner, and then back at me.

Snarling and jeering without any words, but with a two-dimensional distinctness. Her friend, a couple of thick brush strokes, smeared chalk, half cleaned, a smudge of all-encompassing eyes, nose, mouth.

My eyes, straight ahead, staring into the darkness of the peripheral.