Eyelashes

I vehemently believe that eyelashes are the softest part of the self,
that they kiss moonlight while we sleep;
that each one lost, finds itself a river to voyage down.
I sometimes wonder if eyelashes disintegrate, or
if your grave was pried open like a can of tuna,
would your eyelashes rest on your bones?
They skim my cheekbones like an intrusive finger swiping the foam
around the cup of a café latte
and I know
they are like miniscule ants who can sustain the weight ten times
their own
and I know that on my eyelashes rests the universe,
that it is on my eyelashes that the sun chooses to set
instead of the horizon

and they do not burn.

-anna sluder

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