In the Stillness
of Color
by paloma
The sun came up
backwards this morning.
At the end of the
day, my
senses were given
away to someone else.
I felt nothing.
Coldness, like a tumor, radiated into my organs.
My heart grew into my
mouth
so large I could not
speak.
I looked at my face,
Fear had kissed my
cheek
and taken my blood.
I had become clear
and no one could see me.
They walked past
me, no answers to my
questions, in the maze of white halls,
I was lost ,
no one would hold my
shoulders,
turning me towards
the way home.
I saw him, in the bed,
and it was as if I
was looking at him
under water.
And an animal
sound, raw as a cut, rushed
around me like the
foam of a stormed sea,
engulfing me, scaring me,
and it was me.
I walked like a dead
man
looking for his
grave, for his rest.
In the chapel the
stained glass
was burned by the
wind of the sun.
My tears, watercolors,
delicate ribbons from
my eyes.
My body shook with
the fervor
of madness, and fists beat my chest.
I would not give him
up, I would
wage war against His
Hand,
but I would not give
him up.
But in the wash of
color,
in the stillness of
the chapel He
spoke to me, and I let my friend go,
to be carried and
cared for by Him.
And in a brokeness
that
gave me my
peace, I asked,
"As you carry
him in Your Arms,
will you also hold my
hand?'