The Colors of Gone

The stifling brown of late Fall just before Thanksgiving, A century old building, the anchor of our small, hometown’s main street.

The wrong propane tank filled by mistake, A vacant, no color low spreading search for a pilot light.

The hubris of a red explosion into the late afternoon sky, A panic of locals in the street.

The faded black hoses flailing on the concrete and extended from the ladders, A volunteer suggesting the whole thing should come down now, for safety’s sake.

The rusted orange of dusk and a state of disbelief, A stuffed deer head brought out by a man who thought it was important.

The smoking grey of soot and debris and rubble and a found cornerstone; 1903, A place we owned and toiled within; a depository of memories for all we knew, now gone.

The surprising green of tomato, squash and zucchini plants seeded down below in the Spring, A freshly exposed hole in the ground along-side a river that flooded too much.

The tarnished silver fence that still surrounds it ten years later, A palette for local art trying to hide a place that cannot be hidden.

The yellow of hope that we could move on, A growing comfort that we have and will, colored by our desire for it to be so.