The Men with the Ticket Eyes

by T. MORGAN

Tell Mother I’ve gone to marry a man with green eyes,
green as the ocean.
Tell her I went to find him out in the forest,
where leaves were as bright,
as he.
Tell her the word that caught me there was devotion
deep within him.
Tell her I burned the trees because of the monster,
rotting, grasping.

Tell Mother I’ve gone to marry a man with pale eyes,
don’t recall what shade.
Tell her I went to find him by walking aimless,
into the sunset.
Tell her I married him for the wondrous house
that he made,
Tell her I don’t remember quite when I left him,
the man with no color.

Tell Mother I’ve gone to marry a man with gray eyes,
cool as the water.
Tell her I went to find him out in the city,
flint eyed and fragile.
Tell her that, if she asks, she’ll still have a daughter,
if she’ll have me back.
Tell her I drank myself sick, then took a taxi back to the village;
all he had was gold,
the man whose eyes were cold.

Tell Mother I went to marry a man with brown eyes,
warm as the Spring earth.
Tell her that his heart was strong as the mountains,
yielding as soft turf.
Tell her I left because his kindness was grating,
made me feel useless;
and so I wandered on,
before he saw I’d gone.

Tell Mother I went and married a man with blue eyes,
glinting like sapphires.
Tell her I felt entranced by the man that
everyone admires.
Tell her I think about the man with the brown eyes,
when I look at the blue on,
my arms,
my skin,
my thought,
my dignity.

Mother, I’ve gone to marry a man with no eyes,
black pits that beckoned.
He’s never done any harm because he collects,
we seeds and,
I wanted to tell you that I’m still sorry.
But it’s too late now.
I’ve gone to marry the man with the pale face,
and open arms.
I’ve gone to marry the one man who’ll take a daughter
who made too many mistakes.