The picture is in a gold frame and
and it is hanging in a basement in a little room with a coal shoot door that won’t stay nailed shut where I used to play as a child.
One year I pulled the picture down, turned it over and saw written on the back in dark red ink:
“Her eyes are wrong- and it’s to late to change them now “
I turned the picture so that it faced the wall.
But the words scared me more then the photograph itself
so I turned it back around
and I never looked into the eyes in that picture again.
But it didn’t matter.
Because those eyes, those wrong eyes, saw me.
I know it.
And I know that they still do.