from “poems for a brown eyed girl”

The wind 

blew strongly 

off the Chukchi Sea,

the cold air 

settled bitterly 

over Point Hope 

and made 

even his bones 

cold.

Her brown eyes 

looked tenderly 

into his blue eyes 

and made 

a small warmth 

in the middle 

of his belly 

that began 

to warm him 

again.

Her eyes 

were 

like the earth, 

like the tough yet tender bark 

of the peach trees 

during South Carolina summers 

on the Charleston farms, 

like the blanket 

his abuela 

made 

from the colors 

of the flowers and fields 

of the beautiful mountains 

of El Salvador.

“You know,” 

he thought,

as he looked

into her eyes, 

“They’re just 

like my abuela’s blanket. 

They wrap me 

and keep me  

warm.”

-Trevor Scott Barton, poems for a brown eyed girl, 2018