The Man Who Juggled Eyes

05/29/14

He threw them higher and some of the children clapped and pointed. He threw them
higher and the people watched with their eyelids ready. Even his own mother blinked
when he reached for a stray.
He threw them higher and the houses showed him their ragged shoulders. He threw
them higher and the trees stepped down with their children. He could see how the town
had not been good for their families.
He threw them higher and the hills made him a green carpet. He threw them higher
and the mountains stood next to him in white jackets. He swallowed them and his belly
grew fat with light.
He slept with them and they stared at his foolishness. He dreamed of them and his
hands jerked as he juggled them again in his sleep. He threw them higher and even
darkness could not hold them all.
He threw them higher and water spread out beyond his imagination. His
imagination grew. He threw them higher and the clouds brushed against him like ghosts.
By now the people had forgotten him.
He threw them higher and the world grew round and got smaller. He tried to throw
them higher. They began falling.
He watched the world grow larger and the earth come back to him. He caught the
eyes softly in his mouth. One by one he gave them back to the animals and went back to
his people, but his people had grown small and could not see how carefully he juggled
what he had learned against what they did not think to question.



Rich Ives is the author of Tunneling to the Moon: A Psychological Gardener’s Book of Days currently being published in serial @ Silenced Press everyday in 2014 and forthcoming in paperback. Begin from the beginning, catch up, read daily. Just refer to the Burrow Guide.