Our Eyes

I've always thought myself my mother's daughter. Our red-gold-brown hair glitters and waves. Our curves hark back to her grandmother, And it's because of her that I must pluck and shave. But as I grow, I find these superficial marks overcome By my father's dark eyes set against my own pale skin. Our eyes are clever and bright with life, And expertly conceal the troubled worry line between them. For the seek out every danger and fear, Every little big catastrophe, That takes us out of our own control, Minds whirring with anxiety. He gets lost in his head and lists and paces And hides behind closed doors with deadbolt latched. I get lost in my body until my burdened chest Turns breathing into gasp and catch. That not on my pillow, my friend's dismissal and blame Broke me, the last straw of a trembling dam. Washing tears from my face, puzzle pieces together but still not quite right, Our eyes peered at me through my numb fingers. Hello, Dad.