Mascara, the morning after

Myopic, but not quite blind
I stand in front of the mirror,
his robe hanging next to it.
My face is pale,
and foggy from the night before.
My eyes have darkened,
become two ships, sunken
in an oil spill.
An eyelash has fallen off, approaching my cheekbone,
trying to swim to safety.
But instead of crying, "Man overboard!"
I flick it off my face
where it disappears onto an unfamiliar floor.
After licking my finger, I trace the path
from the corner of my eye to the bridge of my nose,
making the pathway safe again.

Carol works as an assistant editor for a telecommunications trade magazine. Her poems and stories have appeared in several print zines and online journals, including Mango Soup, Freddy's Hair, and The Poet's Cut. She lives in Ossining, NY with her fiancé Drew, and cat Maggie. Her web site includes additional examples of her work.