“THE NAKED TRUTH” by Johanne Brunet

She looks at me with those wide eyes—does eyes, truly, as the
saying goes—big, brown, and velvety, with lashes long and thick
enough to lift her off the ground if she batted them quickly enough.
I come in tired, battered, slouched with heat and troubles and time,
and pause in the doorway to focus on her. It’s an image, a familiar
yet so individual instant, of her glancing up as her hand continues to
steady the iron board and run the iron along the seams of a pant-leg,
ironing, ironing, ironing—ironing the wrinkles, like those beneath my

eyes, which refuse to go away.

“Angreek87″