Grey

I grew under a grey sky,

Bolstered by black books.

Some people can read the same book all their lives,

Grey morning and grey evening.

Not me.

I sought out forbidden prose.

In a dusty purple hardback, I read

About other people's cerulean gods,

Compassionate and herculean gods -

Goddesses!

But every day I heard from that book,

Black and heavy things. Hellfire

That choked me with smoke.

The right way to be was clearly

Not like me.

Until she came, eyes glittering promise,

Pink lips weaving laughs,

Wearing purple and orange and don't-give-a-fuck.

I scrawled her name on every paper.

My mother

Screamed a red scream when she read it;

An echoing banshee wail. You'd think

Her grey daughter had died; but I'm sure

To her it was even worse,

My love.

We left that grey place, hand in eager hand,

Each pulling a lime-green suitcase.

My father gave me parting gifts; a

Drunken lecture and that same old book,

In navy-blue.

Inscribed: remember thy creator

in the days of thy youth.

I kept it; carted it from one white-walled rental

To another. Maybe to remind me

Not to be grey.