Poetry at Sangam



OPEN, MY EYES by John Bradley

I pull open a drawer by the sink.  I can’t.  Open my eyes. 
The red liner, it’s not quite flat in the drawer.  Open.  My eyes. 
Under the liner.  There’s something.  Underneath.  Moving.  I can’t.
Something living.  Moving, moved.  I can.  I can’t.  Feel it.  Open. 
Cockroaches?  Mice?  Melding spiders?  My eyes.  Can’t.
I throw cold water.  At my face.  Push.  Pull at my eyes. 
But I can’t.  They won’t.  Open.  Open, my eyes.