Suzanne S. Eaton is an author and marketing consultant. She has written many corporate stories and magazines. She authored the book “Chinese Herbs,” which was reprinted seven times. She has written for various publications and anthologies. Most recently, Down in the Dirt Magazine, Writer Shed Stories, Seaborne Magazine, The Purpled Nail, The Silent World in Her Vase (TSWHV), and Scarlet Leaf Review have selected her work for publication.
She stood in front with the black refuge of the back row all over her. Spoke braids of truth wound up in a feverish ball. Hit the surface darkly with words that corrupted the shine of the cause. Momentum gathered like logs thrown at a fire until it suffocates. What happens when the glitz of it all outplays the inmost wrath? A fire too hot—more heat than light, exhausted.
He stood as white as an achromatic rose, albino eyes—wildly blind, saw every soul, a part of the whole—didn’t pretend to sort veracity. She warned him of the lusty agitation that would deride his context, tried to proffer him the outrage and subversion below it all. But, he knew—born in pain and despair—he sensed injury wherever it was, soaked up the hurt, the slights, the harassment and the spite.
The more he spoke, the more they saw him—the most grievous victim. “All are oppressed in different ways,” he said. “But here is anguish we can heal.” A conflux of cannabis-like conciliation settled over the populous room. The vagary stood on the head of a pin as the mass chanted, then debated, and fell into vacuous silence as he turned again to speak. “We must be colorblind,” he said, “but always be pain-sighted!”
Wild combinations of color Make the eye dance from left to right, Across a spectrum, from black to white.
Green ruffles against big blue skies Make the heart breathe new life, Obscuring the color of strife.
Overlapping bands of merging color Arch together to gracefully ply The multicolored bow in the sky.
Bright crayons and wet paints Touch the canvass anew, —The color of me, the color of you.
What is color if not a gift To the mind, to the eye and the soul. Embrace each hue—color us whole!
Huge hands lifted a fair-haired child, suddenly within his sight.
Blue eyes danced as he teased and swooped an airplane-child in flight.
Two tiny feet perched atop his well-worn shoe. Pretending not to see--
He’d walk away in robust stride with flailing arms grasping at his knee.
Another child giggled and ran to ride, to swing with grandpa’s gait.
Then forward and back and left to right he’d sail he’d skip, he’d alternate.
Even now, a backward glance evokes a childish grin from deep inside.
Knowing how his eyes must dance as we, his posterity, still reach to match his stride.
Her Quiet Touch
Knees thick from kneeling to rid a patch of earth of weeds and briar, to ease soft berries from a thorny vine, to lift new potatoes from earth’s embrace with measured care.
Hands lean from continual crafting to warm the house with baking bread, to lay in place her polished wares, and set a heavy table with a stranger’s welcome --a humble feast.
Home warm with simple memories, a front porch collection of music and games, hallways that echo cedar-chest stories, paperdolls trimmed on a braided rug at the hearth.
Eyes closed, I breathe a sigh and reach to feel Her quiet touch.
Tasting of life’s injustices Feeling spent on labors lost —Defeated and despairing?
Watching your dreams Get realigned by someone Who never caught their vision?
Not every seed that’s sown Will show above the ground, But spring returns, plant again.
For, around life’s corner As seasons change Your dreams will fall to richer soil.
Then watch as opposition Gives way to persistence, And cultivate a blessed opportunity.
There is an avenue of the mind Paved with simple attitude.
We grade the road with faith and hope Or spread and fill with graveled doubt.
A simple choice, laid flat in thought One takes the edge and holds the road
It’s faith or doubt, and left unchecked One will destroy the other.
Like pavement mixed with too much lye An ever-crumbling useless path.
Attitude will mix right in, to map the mind The net result--a life defined.