Ode to Eyelashes
taken for granted, they are,
until, chemo takes them away,
lash by lash,
upper and lower,
slowly thinning,
until, one day, they are gone.
Eyes gaze as puddles then,
bare,
no grasses surrounding,
the wake of the pond.
The lashes
of the whip
are gone, too,
only kindness
for what comes along,
no filtering,
of the view.
I lashes lift,
like puddles,
in the sun.