Mommy's Colors

19 years and only just starting to search through mommy’s closet. Rifling desperately looking for a secret mirror window to her universe— stitched quietly in a jacket somewhere. The colors from then! From her life as a skydiver breathtaker beautiful vessel of kaleidoscope potential. I sit amidst a pile of bright reds oranges my favorite blues —as though she hand-picked the hues with me in mind before she knew my kicking form. I finish off my reconstruction in a screaming blue wool sweater and the necklace of her guru for fashion’s sake. Would she have torn these clothes to shreds if she knew the body beneath them would banish color from her world? Even her hair now is dyed black. Mommy, I revel in your existence feed off you like some disgusting, cloned parasite desperate to understand you, getting under your skin in order to learn its shade. If restoring you would take a tapestry of hues, then render me a spider and I swear I would spin you back to blue