Beyond the Eyes

Deep wells of brown

peer

through a forest of lashes

topping off the

crooked

grin.

A sea of sun-kissed curls

tilts

as the head cocks.

The knife edge mind

assesses

its surrounds with

military

precision.

As he wiggles

in a chair, or explodes

from the rug, or runs

down the hall

skipping

from blue block to blue block

To hang

from the

bathroom

sink.

Or arms himself

with a large stick,

assumes a samurai stance

and lays waste

to the tall grass

concealing threats

visible only

to his finely honed

eyes.

He is a boy

with no need

for adults,

or approval

defiant

never mean

“He’s all boy”

they say

smiling

patting his head

while shaking theirs.

But they don’t see

past the curls

the eyes

the grin.

They don’t look down

to the

constantly moving

picking

pulling

hands

To the flaming

torn

cuticles.

Of a terrified boy

frantically working

to carve

a safe place.