Old Soft Eyes

Weaving through brightly
colorfully lit perfume bottles,
candles secreting scents, and
snowflake posters hanging from
the ceiling, I stopped. Bottles
tinkled in my basket. Last in
a line of blank faces, speaking
to my mother about the
past, suddenly, I heard a voice
in front of me. A beard, old soft eyes,
and a friendly voice spoke to me. It said:
'I grew up in Illinois. As a child I remember
sitting in front of the crackling
fireplace with a cup of warmth
in my hands. Watching the snow fall
outside. The greatest feeling in the
world. My wife came out here to
California to live closer to her family.
That is why I am here.
Most of my relatives have passed on.
I've only visited home once
After the Vietnam war.
I sure do miss that place.
Maybe I'll go back someday..maybe
The voice gave a wistful sigh.
I felt so sorrowful. A solemn smile
silently lifted my lips.
Why would one so wise share with
one so young? Was there no other?
This friendly face made the snow
seem so inviting and the sun seem
so far away. Should I feel silent
emotion for those old soft eyes,
or for those pale blank faces?

Slowly the faces faded
and the beard blew away
leaving hollow cracks
in my mind.