Reflecting
Father pops out in brilliant hues
camping trip green
roller-coaster red
icy-pop blue
punched through with angry black.
But Mother is a mess--
a finger-painting of routine,
bleeds colors from sole to grey,
the particular indiscernible from far away.
Grey--
tint of storm clouds
pregnant with sobbing,
chasing the sun with condolences,
mutilating the heavens with her bawl.
Grey--
chimes like silver,
sword on sword in a
defensive battlecry,
clashes of protection.
Grey--
skeleton scaffold of ladders
to drape a skin of want
without hazard of buckling.
Grey--
world at dusk;
a black and white movie
with birdsong as soundtrack;
blurred edges, softened scrutiny;
a rabbit's meuse;
white noise.
Grey--
becomes the background
so the colors can
pop.
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