Written: February 6, 2025
Is it fear?
My grandmother’s icy eyes blown wide with terror.
As long as I live, I’ll never forget her.
His truck parked right out there in the drive
A horror to see, but we’re still alive.
Is it death?
It’s as cold as the sedation pads wrapped around my father as he took his dying breaths.
It’s the flashing lights coming to hurt, or maybe to help.
Is it joy?
It’s the skyline’s waves greeting you as you cross over the bridge.
Doesn’t matter that you’ve seen it–your breath will still hitch
Is it nostalgia?
It’s rollerblading to Eiffel 65, my friends and me
It’s fresh berries, summer sweet, hanging in a backyard tree
Is it love?
It’s my mother’s kind eyes standing right by my side
And over my nephew’s bottle, it’s the bright eyes that seek mine
It’s as deep as the ocean, and as cool as the breeze
It’s as light as the sky that lifts a gull’s wings
It’s the color of an interstate roadtrip and the water on the map
Yet it’s also the color of the very first bruise that I had
Maybe it’s sadness and maybe a car
Doesn’t mean it’s depression–sometimes the curtains just are
I’m not quite sure what to make of this hue
Maybe as much as it is to me, it’s even more to you
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