I saw you in shades
of pink,
and orange,
and blue,
and wrote the opening lines of this poem,
before I was even awake.

In my fractured house you appeared,
and you were at a funeral,
twice in one week,
and at the same time,
there were weddings,
for dates you couldn’t keep.

I purposely went to that church,
and the cutest boy from high school
was marrying a known lesbian.
And adjacent to the graves,
was a gymnasium and pool.

Where I saw you.
In pink,
and orange,
and blue.

People came and people went,
but I remembered you,
my mind misplaced
your tattoos,
and gave you
pink,
and orange,
and blue.

The colors on your arm must have run,
or maybe you had them removed.
Will it take a wedding
or a funeral
to see you again?

In black and white.
To see you clearly,
and not obscured by the pool water,
and not allowed to be forgotten,
or punished for my
recriminations.

I’ve lived life wishing I could do more,
than merely remember you,

in pink,
and orange,
and blue.

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Asst. Editor: Kristina Peterson/Ed:Bryonie Wise