I’ve never seen eyes like hers. I’ve seen eyes that weaken knees, eyes that made my stomach flip, eyes that wobble the earth, but never eyes like these. Eyes that cripple. All the joy was a fathom from the ground. A street party in St. Lucia. The Friday night “Jump Off,” with rum concoctions, laughing tourists, entrepreneurial locals, food scents wafting, pockets of exhaled ganja, flirtatious smiles, happy chatter, the bliss of a warm Caribbean night. All the joy was a fathom from the ground—misery at our knees. I saw…
Eyes Like Hers
