With Eyes to See

It has been a long time since I've posted something on my blog. I had high hopes when I started college that I would have many things to post, but 'twas not the case. I didn't do much writing other than school papers, which, though some were interesting to write, I will not post here because they are not quite lively enough for this blog. Last semester, however, I had a Creative Writing class which gave me a jump-start on some material to share with the world. And without further adieu, here is the first of three poems I wrote for that class.

(This is a picture I took of U Hall which sorta sets the mood to my poem.)

With Eyes To See

By Melody Beerbower, September 8, 2015

Raindrops fall from a charcoal sky,

Liquid spheres of sorrow

Turning the world to grey.

They dampen the heads below them

Bent close to examine the pavement

With barren eyes.

Crooked cracks disfiguring the sidewalks

Traveled by too many feet

Capture the rain in miniature rivers

And drain it onto the blacktop.

Men and woman hurry along

Passing each other like dignified trains

Gliding by,

Each with a separate track.

In the swirling mud at their feet

A sparrow lies

Struggling in a tangle of filthy string.

The shoes of earthy brown tread close

But never once do crush it.

And never once do the downcast eyes

Have sight to see

Its plight.

A man approaches, with head bent low

And eyes half-closed against the wind,

Clutching a paper cup of coffee.

His heavy boots splash through the mud,

One tan shoe lace trailing behind

As though it lacks the strength

To keep the shoe securely fastened.

As he stretches his foot out in perfect stride,

Right over the place the sparrow lays struggling,

A stranger bumps his shoulder

Pushing him stumbling

Backward and knocking the coffee from his hand.

The dark liquid mingles with the rain,

No different from the mud bellow.

As he bends to retrieve his cup,

His wayward gaze

Is pierced the sparrow’s eyes.

Trickling in their dark depth,

The yearning for life and freedom grows.

The sparrow lays still

In the man’s work-worn hands.

As carefully he peels away the string.

People pass on either side

Like water around a sturdy rock in a swiftly flowing stream.

Finally, the string falls away,

And curls up in the mud at his feet,

Next to the languid shoelace.

With one soft stroke to the Sparrow’s head

And one to the wing now free,

And one last look into its eyes

He lifts his hand, palm outstretched,

And releases the sparrow into the grey.

The man watches its flight toward the hazy sun,

As the dark screen rolls away.

He squints his eyes

As it is swallowed up

In the newly-discovered brightness.

Someone stumbles against the man

As he stands with his gaze in the sky.

He catches their arm and points aloft

And says in awakening awe, “Look, man. See.”

The next man turns his face briefly to the sky,

But the sight holds him there.

He nudges another beside him and points,

And so it continues and on down the line

Until along the street people are stopping

To gaze upward,

For a beautiful rainbow has replaced the rain.

Even though the rainbow slowly begins to fade,

The people are still talking to one another.

They resume their walk,

But their eyes are no longer on the ground below,

But wander about in the warmth of the sun

And all because one man rescued a sparrow

And turned his broken gaze above.