The Color of Loss

 

The living room faced east and

The curtains she made were blue,

Thick, like a breeze wouldnÕt move them.

But you could still see

Through the fabric

If you looked.

Seventeen is too young, they said

For a girl to lose her mother.

Still, I could tell some of them at least

Thought there would be something

In the end

Something like meaning

Or poetry.

But I thought that was there all along

The poetry, I mean.

The living room faced east

And the rising sun

Came through

In a pale blue glow.

 

 

© Heather Bell Adams

 

Bio: Heather Bell Adams lives in lives in Raleigh, North Carolina with her husband and their nine-year old son. She has published short and flash fiction in addition to non-fiction articles and essays.