She is reported to have had beautiful blue eyes.
That plus the fact Flannery couldn’t tell her best friend’s
children apart I find reassuring as I consider myself.
I’ve always struggled to remember names. And although
my driver’s license says brown, the truth is my eyes are blue.
I cannot say they’re beautiful. But they’re blue for that
that is the habit I’ve acquired, the way I’ve learned to see.
That wild and precious poet revealed Whitman as the
brother she never had. O’Connor is the sister I always wanted.
I used to believe that was Dillard, but I’ve come to see
Annie as paramour (I’ve learned she likes words like that).
It seems sane not to blur the lines between literary lovers and
siblings although I admit it can present a challenge when several,
like Mary Oliver, have the most beautiful blue eyes.