Neither my mother nor my father has blue eyes, but I do. Bluish grey, sometimes green. Blue eyes represent a lack of pigment, the absence of color in the iris: clarity. There is no darkness or density around the pupil to absorb any vision, as blackness absorbs the sun, as water sinks into a sponge and gives it weight. Everything filters directly into the internal mirrors of the eyeball, pure as light through a projector’s lens. The blueness came to me from Grandma’s eyes – it hid underneath the chestnut in my mother’s and came forward again in me. I do have a ring of gold that surrounds my pupil, a burst of amber before the grey-green-blue that tried to cover up the clearness of the pigment, but didn’t succeed. My grandmother and I share a name, too: Evelyn, though neither of my parents has ever called me by that name.
Come to think of it, maybe my grandmother’s eyes were green – greenish grey. Neither of my parents can really remember. They must have changed, depending on what color sweater she wore, like mine do. Green grey gray slate hazel blue. Not brown, not rich and dense but icy and light.
Thank you to Jeannie Yoon for photos on About Me and Writing pages
All other images and writing samples are Copyright Grace Eire