5/23/10

Golden Eyes
By Miriam H. Harrison


It’s been a while since I’ve shared a bed with another human being. A bed, a shower, a kitchen table – the particulars don’t matter. All that I know is that it has been a long time. The last man I made love to had golden eyes; I have forgotten a lot, but I remember that much. I remember because that was the reason I took in Patches, a stray, meowing at the window. I had been ready to chase him away, until he looked up at me with his yellow eyes, and I remembered what it felt like to have another body beside mine. Patches is gone now, dead from old age. The same can be said for my love life, I suppose. My time has passed, and with it, all memories of gazing into golden eyes.


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Miriam is a writer of fiction and poetry living in Sudbury, Ontario, Canada. In addition to her publications, she has been a panelist at Toronto's Ad Astra convention and is currently the Sudbury Branch Manager of The Ontario Poetry Society, Vice-President of the Sudbury Writers' Guild and Vice-President of the Sudbury Hypergraphic Society, a networking and promotions group for writers.