Crater Lake Eyes

Attending Oregon City High School

I dated a girl with Crater Lake eyes

even though I’d never seen Crater Lake.

I saw this wonder 15 years later: record-setting depth

shimmering a unique shade of blue

that was never replicated in a big box of crayons.

Color mixologists tried and failed a hundred times.

The moment I saw Crater Lake

I dived into her eyes.

Sent up a splash,

then a ripple,

and coined the phrase.

That time I was struck so nervous

driving her to a movie that

I stopped at a green light.

I didn’t hear the horns.

She told me the light was red

and I drove on.

Or that time

I tried teaching her tennis.

She showed up wearing

white terry cloth shorts with red piping,

red and white knee high socks,

and a white t-shirt

scissored with ragged precision

that fell two inches above her naval.

She whiffed every shot!

We moved onto basketball

and she flung layups

over the backboard.

Not too long ago,

I returned to Crater Lake

for the first time

in thirty years.

Crater Lake wasn’t there.

Smoke from a dozen wildfires

smothered everything

and made my eyes burn.