Tag Archives: Bobbi Sinha-Morey

The Large, Dark Centers of His Eyes

By Bobbi Sinha-Morey

He sits in his patio again

eyeing us as if we lived

in a dollhouse, probing

everything we do inside

our mobile home watching

every movement as if he

were a higher being who

could possibly tease open

our door with his thumb and

interpret our lives, a knowledge

blooming slowly in my mind

like a flower that he’d love to

live comfortably like us for

the rest of his life, and I know

he doesn’t like us – a two-sided

jerk, and one day I peered back

at him before it was daylight.

That’s when I saw the large,

dark centers of his eyes like

new pupils fitted inside by an

unseen hand. I imagined him

an oculist examining me and

my husband behind the glass.

In my dreams wrinkles on his

face looked like cobwebs and

each time I saw him outside

my world begun to tremble.

I could see inside whenever

he pleased because there were

no blinds on our windows.

He could see my husband

napping, me in my pajamas.

One day just before dusk I saw

mosquitos in the air spinning

around his head.

Bobbi Sinha-Morey’s poetry has appeared in a wide variety of places such as Plainsongs, Pirene’s Fountain, The Wayfarer, Helix Magazine, Miller’s Pond, The Tau, Vita Brevis, Cascadia Rising Review, Old Red Kimono, and Woods Reader. Her books of poetry are available at Amazon.com and her work has been nominated for the Best of the Net Anthology in 2015, 2018, and 2020 as well as having been nominated for The Pushcart Prize in 2020. Find her online here.