I don’t want to live this life anymore,
but you are pinks and deep hues,
the tangerine clouds behind sunsets
that giggle and puff themselves
into the shape of my mother,
when she slouched proudly
against the cupboards that robbed my air.
You are the pink of her that opened
the doors on their mothers
getting busy with our uncles,
and the red screeching from a pillowcase
bursting with the Siamese kittens they drowned.
You are deep hues and an ugly reminder
of small towns and smaller minds,
stroked once and cut twice
from a life, we are all running from.
© Nicole Lyons 2017