Colors

My mother’s hands rest on green,

the color of a blanket

I place across her lap,

the one she would use

while watching t.v.

the one she clutches as

we watch for the ambulance

while the night grows black.

My feet step on black,

the color of rubber mats

placed at a hospital door

to soften the entrance

of bodies hurrying

past white lights shining

“Emergency”.

I don’t stop for white

nor rest by it.

I walk until there are

no colors left

except black –

the sound of the

doctor sitting next to me

the night my mother died.

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Author: Boheme4ever

Personal development, global travel. The stuff of my life.

3 thoughts on “Colors”

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