Eve
Green eyes won’t do; her skin is blue.
Your paintbrush says it best
Picasso-like
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.”
after reading, i want to find my colors and go to work.