My Grandmother Wore the Flowers and I Wore Black This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

March 23, 2018

Today was black and purple

not black and blue

like one might expect

it to be.

Though no one knows what color to see,

color to feel,

color to embrace,

when the one you love(d)

is a loss beyond,

beyond my trace.

 

My grandmother was light, lively

and violet

with the scent and

presence of lavender;

it was fitting.

 

I did not fit in

with the ones

dressed in the devil’s darkest

shade in the spectrum.

Black was the presence

of her nonliving presence,

but magenta and cool

purple sang her heart

to sleep.

 

She was dressed in purple

the last time.

I saw her.

She was laid to rest in lavender.

The lightness . . .

lightest

lightness of my person

decayed their purple

to the darkest doom.

 

I still see the lightest

lavender when I visit her

tomb.

But I continue to see

darkness

upon entry of that room.

So I keep those purple

flowers in my bedroom.

 





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