Green eyes won’t do; her skin is blue.
Your paintbrush says it best
slicing rearranging parts

It settles on The Eye
downcast half-covered by
a sapphire lid
glinting in an almost-wink

It settles on the Apple Core
a gash of green will do for that
dropped by her careless hand
toward a prismed hedge

Your Eve becomes mosaic
like the Garden tiles beneath her
and mysterious as
a hidden well

~ Joan Baragar

Joan writes: “I published a poem in a national magazine when I was seventeen, but have been writing prose and poetry for most of my life and publishing some of it. My dream is never to lose my sense of wonder – even now, when the Winnipeg snow appears to have lost its appeal except to prairie people such as myself.”

One Response to “Eve”

  1. after reading, i want to find my colors and go to work.

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