An eye is like a philosopher's library, filled with innovative invention and pieces of history that built what has been built.  My mom Margo’s eyes are deep brown, just like both my sisters and my brother. My dad Vic’s eyes are green and gentle just like his mum’s. My eyes, my eyes, are blue and brilliant just like my grandma Susan. They soar like blue jay birds on a warm Wisconsin summer day.

But all of our eye lashes, all of our lashes, are long and beautiful like they have grown to the tips of Mount Everest. These lashes are flirty and lively. They’re like the long veil a bride wears on her weddings, elegant and define. This is something we all share.

A starry night all bundled up in my checkered robe, the oak wood creaked and in walked mom. Her arms suffocate me with love and the flickering of her eyelashes reflect on my rosey cheeks. A butterfly kiss dances with those luscious lashes. But my mom’s the most beautiful combination of all.