His Eyes Are in My Face

By Tanya Fenkell

His eyes are in my face,

cracked blue

and light.

Fine, delicate hands

cradled his lens, fifty years of it, then

later, pulled shapes

out of wood.

As a boy, he was left-handed.

Steady, silent,

at once present and absent.

Sometimes he called me by

his sister’s name.

He said: don’t be an artist.

He meant: your love will be ruined.

I kept his blue sweater, that

inconsequential object,

for its comfort

against memory,

his final, vacant blue.

Tanya Fenkell is a Toronto-based artist and writer. She holds a BA in English Literature from McGill University, an MA (in English) and an MIS from the University of Toronto. She has been published in several small journals. As an artist, she is interested in solitude and solitary spaces in the natural world. She has had a number of exhibitions in Ontario and her work is held in several private collections in Canada.

Instagram: @tanyafenkellart

Website: www.tanyafenkell.com