I found your painted sweatshirt
in a box of your belongings
in the attic by the stairs
that fold on down.
And it smelled like Sunday morning
over coffee in the kitchen
before hope and our sweet life
began to drown.
I remember gentle kisses
up and down the ragged neckline
and the yellow on the sleeve
when it was new.
And the blue was like the starlight
coming through our bedroom window
on those crazy rainy nights
just me and you.
I fold it all away,
the shirt, the stairs,
the papers,
and tuck it in my mind
for another day.
So many colors,
a rainbow, a medley
of the laughter and the heartbreak
of our rooms.
© Chagall, 2013
Alphabet City 