brown

Brown. The freshly tilled earth standing out under the beating sun. Your skin. The corn.

Brown. Intense morning coffee, the warm cup in your hands, your reflection. Outside the rain, the traffic jam.

Brown. Chocolate stains on my little hands, on my smiling mouth. My mother's eyes.

Brown. Orange and yellow taking the deepest dive in the late autumn. Leaves. Our steps.

Brown. The wooden dresser in the enpty with room. My groom suit in the third drawer. Folded, new, never used. The ring in the left pocket.

Brown. My Grandpa's old leather shoes I used to stare at while sitting on his lap. They looked so big from there.