Through These Eyes by Jo Skead
	These eyes don't feel right. They see things I'm not meant to see. Having sight took a lot of getting used to. A black world where my ears and fingertips ruled for so many years found it difficult to take a back seat. It's amazing what can be successfully transplanted nowadays. God must look down on us with so much pride. I stare into the bathroom mirror at a face that is different from the one I'd imagined through touch. My hair is black and my eyes are green. My eyes. Donated tissue is usually anonymous but I know where my eyes came from. I've seen the crimes- seen the blood. I lift the knife up and rest the cool blade against my cheek. I've seen enough.
	Copyright © 2006 Jo Skead